Just For Tonight (Just Maybe We Made It)
by StitchAndRepair
Summary: Ian takes Mickey away - Just for the night.
1. Chapter 1

**Just For Tonight  
(Just maybe we made it)**

**********  
Ian came jogging down the stairs, his heavy boots clomping noisily on each step. The raised voices of his two sisters had woken him up twenty minutes earlier like an annoying alarm clock that was waking him up almost on the daily now that his little sister wasn't so little anymore.

As he made his way to the fridge he raised his eyebrows in greeting at Fiona, not daring to open his mouth in fear of getting dragged into their argument again - he made that mistake last week, giving his opinion on whether Debbie should cut her hair short and she had only just started talking to him again. He turned to look at the two of them, amused, as he opened a carton of orange juice and drunk from it.

"Why not? Everyone else gets to wear make up!" Debbie argued as she slid onto one of the kitchen stools, rolling her eyes towards her older sister, "I'm already the only middle-schooler without a cellphone, can't you at least let me be a little bit normal there?!"

"_Debbie_," Fiona sighed, tired of the argument as she paced around the kitchen hurriedly, picking up all the empty PopTart wrappers and cereal cartons, "last time I'm telling you - You are _not_ wearing that lipstick to school. Take it off!" She finished firmly, pointing a finger towards the stairs and cocking an expectant eyebrow at Debbie, who tutted under her breath but jumped down from the stool anyway, glared at Fiona and trudged up the stairs.

Ian looked on as Fiona put the rubbish into the bin and straightened out her grey work jacket, looking around the room for what else needed to be done. She ran her hands through the knot of brown curls on her head and took a deep breath, checking her watch.

"Shit, Carl, go brush your teeth" she sighed as he continued to sit there, "like now," she rubbed three fingers against the skin between her eyebrows as she pushed him towards the stairs, "and tell Lip to get his ass out of bed - I'm not telling him again."

Ian could see Carl open his mouth to protest and smirked as Fiona just pursed her lips at him, her eyes going wide. Carl's mouth snapped closed and, with a roll of his eyes, headed up the stairs with his shoulders slumped.

Fiona turned and, with her lips still pursed, glared at Ian as she pulled the carton away from his mouth and slammed it pointedly on the counter next to a glass. He rolled his eyes with a smirk and poured the juice into the glass, as the sound of footsteps making their way down the living room stairs filled the silence.

"Wahey! Night two without a diaper and the bed is bone dry!" came Jimmy's voice from the living room as he made his way into the kitchen, a laughing Liam in his arms as he happily chewed on Jimmy's iPhone.

"_Aww_, my little milk dud."  
With a wide smile, Fiona lent in and nuzzled Liam's nose with her own, tickling his stomach as he tipped his head back with a high-pitched giggle that made Ian think of those wind chimes his mom used to have hanging up on the back porch, "You're a big boy now aren't you? Huh?" Taking him from Jimmy with a quick, soft kiss to his lips, she pulled Liam up onto her hip and walked over to the dining room table. "Now little guy, you gotta eat all your toast today and then you get to spend the day with V."

As Fiona put Liam into his high chair and handed him a cut up square of toast, Ian leant in and kissed the mop of hair on the little boys head and smiled at his sister. He reached over to Fiona's plate and stole the last slice of her toast, shoving the corner of it into his mouth before he maneuvered around her and pulled his jacket from the hook.

"Ahh Ian, just the guy I was looking for!"

Ian paused mid-bite, toast dangling from his mouth and his jacket pulled only half way over his arms, "What?"

"How do you feel...?" Jimmy started as he walked closer to him, the smile on his face reminding Ian of the sleazy sales guy on the corner by the Kash and Grab, always trying to close a deal, "about a wager?"

With a roll of his eyes, Ian pulled on his jacket properly and pulled the toast from his mouth. "You're never going to learn," he told him bluntly, "You lose every time."

"Come- I'm _really_ confident about this one," he whined, his hand reaching out like he had something other than promises to offer.

"You said that about the last one," Ian pointed out as he zipped up his jacket and leant down past Jimmy, picking up his school bag from by the dryer, almost falling as he tried to avoid a rushing Fiona as she tried to put her heels on, apply chapstick and talk on the phone all at once.

He looked her over briefly and noticed how happy she looked despite being busier than she'd ever been. The full time job selling cups, along with the new friends and help from Jimmy and V, was something that Fiona was proud of herself for. She'd never admit it, always downplayed it, but Ian knew that Fiona saw it as a way out, as stability, as finally being the adult that her parents never could be.

"_Come on_," Jimmy pleaded, dragging Ian away from his thoughts, "I'll buy you a season ticket for next year if I lose" he raised his eyebrows like that was an offer too good to refuse, "which I won't!" He added quickly.

Before Ian could answer, Carl bounded down the stairs, his bag on his back and headed straight out the door with an almost manic laugh, an angry Debbie – hair and t-shirt soaked through – hot on his tail as she screamed about the shower head not being a water pistol.

"I can't believe that I am _related_ to someone like you!" Debbie's voice trailed off as she ran down the steps and out the gate after him.

"Straight to school you two!" Fiona yelled after them, covering the mouthpiece of her phone as she frowned at the door, hoping that they heard her. She looked at Ian and gestured for him to go after them and pass the message on.

Ian nodded and flicked his eyes over to Jimmy, dropping the rest of his toast on Liam's plate and ruffling his hair, "Alright Jimmy-Steve, I'm in."

Lifting his bag onto his shoulder, Ian threw his hand up in a wave and walked out of the house, the door closing behind him.

As he made his way down the steps he could hear Jimmy's voice, could practically see the grin on his face, his hands reaching out to Fiona, "Just the two of us."

He laughed to himself, imagining Fiona just rolling her eyes at Jimmy.  
He had just closed the gate behind him when he heard Fiona's loud, annoyed voice ring out,  
_"LIP!"_

******************

_'Fuck!' _was the first thought that ran through Mickey's mind as he woke up to the loud, angry sounds of his dad smashing around in the kitchen.  
The strips of light that pierced through his blinds made his head pulse and pound like someone was drilling a jackhammer straight through the map of skin between his eyebrows.

He swung his legs round lazily on the bed and placed them on the grubby carpet, noticed with eyes that were heavy with sleep and whatever was left of the alcohol in his system from last night, that one of his brothers had burned a swastika sign into his carpet - those fuckers - and there was a carving on his wall 'SWP' so deep that it was going to be a bitch to plaster over. Mickey's stomach swum with his every breath; the foul taste of stale alcohol, sleep and blood thick on his tongue and he'd never wanted to fling himself back down on the bed and ignore reality more.

Kicking an empty can across his room and wiping the sleep from his eyes, Mickey stood up and made his way to the bathroom, stumbling over his own feet as his head pounded with the movement.

He ran the cold tap, waited until it was ice cold and splashed his face with it. He hissed in pain as he tried to bend his neck, his ribs creaking in agreement that it was a dumbass move. Flashbacks of last night ran through his brain as he patted his face dry with a tank top he found on the radiator.  
He looked at his reflection in the mirror; saw the pattern of bruises across his neck. As he glanced down he could see the bruises still forming, a nasty shade of grey and purple, across his stomach and side. Always the left side; Mickey's weakest side.

Terry had found that out by the age Mickey could walk.

Terry. Of course it was Terry. It was always fucking Terry.

Mickey hazily remembered cracking open some cans of beer with his brothers. One beer had turned into ten and he was happily hammered when his dad and his uncle Tommy had come in, all riled up after a fight with some camel jockeys that took their spot at the Alibi.  
Tommy had laughed at the state the boys were in, had grabbed a beer and joined them, smashing his can against Mickey in a clumsy 'cheers'.  
Hell, even Terry was on a high, had snatched the three-quarters full can from Mickey's hand and downed it in one before he crushed it in his hand and wrapped an arm like a boa constrictor around Mickey's neck.  
He'd told him how he smashed in one guy's skull with the pool cue until the giant behind the bar pulled him off and kicked them out and wasn't that guy the biggest fucker for ruining all of his fun.  
Mickey had hummed his agreement, knowing that any other answer would have his dad's arm constricting tighter around his neck until he apologised like a little bitch and his dad had laughed at him like he knew it.

He doesn't even remember how it happened - did Terry ever really need a reason? - but he just remembers the cupboard door slamming shut and his dad's face being red with anger and too much alcohol.  
Then Iggy and Joey were ducking out the back door; they'd left Mickey and Mandy alone with Terry and Mickey had never hated them more.  
Mandy had been the first one to get a whack, Mickey too far away to jump in first.  
A backhand straight across her cheekbone, her tooth piercing through her bottom lip with the impact, amidst a string of accusations about things she hadn't even done. She'd landed on the floor in a heap and had signaled for Mickey to fuck off out and get away while he could, but he just moved closer to Terry like he had a death wish - just like he always did - and pretended that his hands weren't shaking as Terry slurred curses and insults at him, slapping across his cheek, grabbing at his chin so hard it hurt and spitting down at Mandy just for looking like their mom, like it was Mandy's fucking fault, like she'd chosen to resemble her.

Mickey had sneered at Terry, told him to back the fuck off and calm down and he blocked punch after punch until Mandy had managed to get up and run to her bedroom. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the locks on her bedroom door that he had let out a breath and prepared himself for what was next.

The evidence of what happened after that was spattered across Mickey's body and he was too pissed off and too hungover to want to go for round two. Because there would be a round two - now that Terry was sober, hanging from too little sleep and too much to drink, he'd definitely take his anger out on Mickey if he showed his face out there.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, Mickey could see how shit he looked. His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was pale, almost white, making him look ill. The only colour on his face was from a slight redness to his cheek from the first slap Terry had given him. Mickey prodded at it with one of his fingers and his mouth twitched at the sting of pain he felt, watching his reflection as the skin turned white around his fingertip before the colour rushed back to it.

He heard the door to the weapons cupboard open and close, which meant that Terry was getting ready to leave and Mickey's stomach growled at the thought as he swished mouthwash around in his mouth. It was just past noon and he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning and he was pissed off and just didn't want to be stuck in his shithole of a room or the shithole of a house that he was supposed to call home. Fuck, he didn't even want to be in this flea infested shitpit of a neighbourhood.

Sometimes, especially on days like today when his dad was on the warpath and he was aching from head to toe, Mickey would run away to the rooftop of an empty building across town and, no matter the weather, he'd lay down, arms and legs spread out like a starfish and just pretend.  
Pretend that he was somewhere else, somewhere nice, somewhere where it didn't stink like piss and too much smoke and he was around people that loved him, wanted him, wanted him there.  
When it snowed he would lay there and pretend that the sharp aches in his ribs was from a snowboarding accident the day before and that the ringing in his ears wasn't from Terry smashing his head against the wall, that actually it was from a kickass gig that he managed to sneak into.  
He pretended that the pain was worth it.

As Mickey spat out the mouthwash and lit up a smoke, Terry finally announced his departure with a slam of the door that was so forceful and so loud that Mickey's bedroom windows shook. He waited a beat before he finally headed out of his room; smart enough to look every which way to make sure the coast was definitely clear.  
His throat was sore from where Terry's hands had been wrapped around it and he was pretty sure he was dehydrated, but all he wanted was some food and to get the fuck out of the house before Terry made his way back.

He opened a cupboard and reached, on his tiptoes, to the back of it and pulled out a small box of Grape-Nuts. No other fucker in the house would be caught dead eating cereal like this and he and Mandy quickly found out when they were younger that it was a good place to hide shit.  
He pulled out the half empty packet of the gross cereal and tipped the box up. A scrap of paper, with what looked like math homework on the back, tumbled out of it; a simple message from Mandy

_shithead I'm at aunt Sue's. Come over if he loses his shit again._

Smoke billowed out of his nostrils as he scratched at his hairline, jagged nails scraping painfully and pulling at his hair. He held the cigarette to the paper until it caught alight, watched blankly as it burned between his fingers, the flames licking at the tips. He threw it into the sink and stubbed out his cigarette, shoving it in his pocket as he opened the fridge and pulled out a can of beer and a chocolate bar before he snatched his jacket up from the floor and left the house.

******

Mickey rubbed at his bottom lip and narrowed his hungover eyes at the winter sun as it reflected, too bright, off the crisp coating of white snow on the ground of the baseball stadium. He was far too hungover for this. His hand was shoved in his pocket, repeatedly flicking the lid of his zippo lighter as he waited impatiently for the guy opposite him to finish counting his money.

"...I look like I got all fucking day?" twisting his head side to side to click his neck, Mickey chose to ignore the eye roll that the guy aimed at him, instead just holding his hand out for the money.

"Look, it's all here, $250" the guy was scrawny, too scrawny for his old age, beard unkempt with what looked like crusts of yesterday's dinner dried into it; he fidgeted under Mickey's unwavering stare, itching at his skin, desperate for the clear bag full of white powder currently sitting in Mickey's pocket,

"There's supposed to be $300" Mickey sniffed, stepping closer to the guy, who raked a twitching hand through his long, greasy hair, beads of sweat forming along his forehead.

"I... I got messed around with some money," he stammered out, obviously desperate, "But I swear I'll get it. . . by Monday. All of it."

Noticing a long, faint shadow against the snow out of the corner of his eye, Mickey turned his head and saw Ian walking towards him, wrapped up warm in a jacket, scarf and gloves, his hair shining almost orange in the sun. He glanced back and frowned at the guy, who was now practically rocking with anticipation, "Sunday". With a huff of breath, he pulled the baggie from his pocket and tossed it at the guy's chest, not even bothering to see if he caught it before he pocketed the cash and turned around, tipping his head towards Ian, gesturing for him to turn back around.

"What was that?" Ian asked as they rounded the corner, gripping hold of his bag tighter on his shoulder.

"None of your business," Mickey answered dryly, sniffing and cursing the cold air for making his nose run like he'd been on a coke binge the night before. He hadn't - he'd just had too many beers. His skin itched at the flashbacks of last night and he had to stop himself from fingering at the bruises; the bruises around his neck that felt like a rope, one that Mickey had already considered hanging himself with several times this morning.

A chuckle blew like smoke from Ian's lips as he bumped Mickey's shoulder, ignoring the glare from Mickey that never seemed as vicious as he intended it, "Someone had his cheerios this morning."

"Fuck you," Mickey opened up the packet of cigarettes he'd pulled from his pocket as they walked along the dull, snow trodden streets of Chicago and passed it to Ian without looking at him.

"What's up your ass?" Ian asked, lips curled around the cigarette as he cupped his gloved hands around it while he attempted to light it with numb fingers.

"Nothing," Mickey barked, eyebrows stitched together and mouth pulled in tight as his teeth gritted together from the cold. He snatched the lighter away from Ian and flicked it, the flame sparking up in a blaze of blue and yellow on the first try.

As he held the flame to the cigarette, Ian's hands cupped around his own, the warmth from the other boy making Mickey want to sigh with pleasure as his fingers felt like they were thawing.

He turned his gaze away from Ian, held the lighter in place a second too long and mentally berated himself for being such a little bitch that a mere touch from Gallagher had him relaxing, his anger melting away like a puddle in the blazing sun; his mind clearing, slowing down. It was like he'd taken a hit on some decent weed.

Mickey could see Ian biting back a comment. He knew Ian knew better than to comment when Mickey was in this mood, knew that Mickey was unpredictable and like a rabid pitbull on a strained leash that could snap with the slightest pull. Instead he just took a long drag on the cigarette and handed it to Mickey, focusing on the imprint of footsteps in the snow as they walked along the sidewalk.

Mickey rubbed at his neck, turning his head to try and work out the crick that constantly seemed to be there. "The _fuck_ is that?" Ian asked, half shouting, as Mickey felt a pull on the collar of his jacket, the cold air hitting him as his neck was exposed and he was forced to a halt.

He could see the unmasked jealousy on Ian's face; could see the jealousy slip away as he realised that it wasn't a hickey, that there wasn't just one mark, but rather a whole string of bruises, like a daisy chain along his neck. Ian glared hard at the marks, hard enough to burn holes right through Mickey's skin. Mickey felt anxious under Ian's knowing eyes, watched as the younger boy noticed the finger marks, imprints of jagged nails and bruises like a rainbow of purples, yellows and blues that stood out against the pale white of his skin.

"Fuck-" Mickey growled as he yanked himself out of Ian's grip and adjusted the collar of his jacket, making sure the offending marks were once again covered, his lip turned up in a sneer at Ian, "Don't act like Frank hasn't smacked you around once or twice."

Ian looked up at Mickey's face, trying hard not to show his anger. But Mickey could see it, could see the hatred that was burning at his fingertips edging its way up his insides like his veins were a trail of gasoline and Terry had just struck a match, "Terry did that?"

"Who the fuck else would try?" Mickey muttered, pulling the cigarette out of Ian's grip and flicking the ash onto the ground.

"That the reason you're so pissy?" Ian asked, adjusting his scarf as he tried to swallow down the anger he felt for Mickey's father.

"Na man," Mickey answered, lungs full of smoke as he took another pull on the cigarette, "I just-" He grimaced and waved his hands around in a clueless gesture as he tried to find the words, "You ever just... wanna fuck all this off?" He looked around at the grim streets of Chicago, his mouth twisted up in thought, "Just- _go_?"

Ian just shrugged as a large cloud of smoke spilled out from Mickey's nose and mouth, like steam from a bull, "Uh, yeah, I guess, doesn't everybody?"

"I'm just... I'm hungover or something man," Mickey muttered, looking suddenly calmer as he brushed off his previous comments with a hand gesture, passing the cigarette back, eyes anywhere but on Ian, feeling stupid for even asking.

"Where would you go?" asked the younger boy, holding the cigarette to his lips as he closed the distance between the two of them, now walking side by side.

"Where- what?" asked Mickey, face crumpled in confusion as Ian smirked, smoke mingling with steam from a nearby butchers as a sweaty, chubby man in a red apron poured old water through a grate and into the drain.

"If you could fuck it off" Ian said, looking away from the butcher and back to Mickey, "Where would you go?"

Mickey looked at him for a moment, eyebrows stitched together, eyes narrowed as the sun bounced brightly off a car behind Ian, "I don't fucking know man, anywhere; anywhere with a decent shower and a door that actually locks is good enough for me."

They walk in silence for a minute or two, until Mickey stops suddenly and turns around, wanting nothing more than to just get high and shake off what was left of his bad mood "Ay you wanna go fuck around in that furniture store a few blocks over? A guy that works there owes me money for some blow, figured we could piss him off by jumping on the beds or something."

Ian raised his eyebrows and Mickey tried to suppress an eye roll, "Jumping on the beds?"

"I don't-" Mickey started and then seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say when he shrugged, "Whatever man, it gets us out of the cold."

Ian just grinned and nodded his head. He dropped the cigarette on the floor as he followed after Mickey as he disappeared round a corner. He shivered a little as he unwound the scarf from around his neck, cold wind blowing straight down the back of his shirt, but he shrugged it off as he jogged after Mickey. He stopped just in front of him, half-facing him and looped the scarf around the other boy's neck. He could feel Mickey's eyes on him as he continued walking, the words of protest building on Mickey's tongue practically tangible.  
Ian counted it as a win when Mickey caught up with him and did nothing more than just readjust the scarf around his neck, his hand darting out a second later to catch Ian's elbow when his leg skidded from underneath him on a patch of ice.


	2. Chapter 2

As he walked up the steps leading to the back door of the Gallagher house, Ian shrugged the snow from his shoulders and shook it free from his hair. His cheeks were pink from the bitter cold that had bitten at his face the whole walk home. The familiar, sweet smell of burned popcorn filled his nostrils as he closed the kitchen door behind him.

He looked over to the living room and saw Jimmy and Fiona cuddled up on the sofa, Lip next to them laughing at Carl who was sprawled out asleep in the chair, dribbling onto his jumper. Debbie was nowhere to be seen and Liam was babbling away, banging together two toy blocks.

"Hey man," Jimmy called over to him, beer raised in greeting as Ian removed his jacket, "you almost missed it, thought you weren't coming."

"And miss seeing your face when you lose?" Ian smirked. He put the middle finger of his glove between his teeth and pulled until his hand was free before opening the fridge and grabbing himself a beer.

Perching himself on the arm of the sofa beside Lip, Ian reached down and picked up Liam, who grinned happily and dropped the red blocks in his hands in exchange for pinching at Ian's cheeks, slapping at them and laughing at his brother's amused expression.

"You have a good day buddy?" Ian asked, his hand pushing on the tight coils of black hair on Liam's head,

"V! V!" Replied Liam with a giggle as saliva pooled in the corners of his mouth. Ian smiled and leant forwards, his lips puckered against his younger brother's forehead.

"You think the Bears are going to kick butt today, huh?"

Liam laughed and kicked his legs as Ian raised him above his head.

"Ba-buh-t!" Liam responded with a loud, squealing laugh, his head tipped back, as Lip's fingers pressed playfully into his side.

"You see Mandy today?" Lip asked as he wiped the beer residue from around his mouth.

Ian brought Liam back down onto his lap and turned his head towards his older brother, dodging Liam's arm as a little, chubby hand reached out for him, "Uh no, Terry was on the warpath last night – she's probably at her aunt's hiding out again."

Lip rolled his eyes and leaned forward, placing his empty beer bottle down on the coffee table with a bang as he stood up, "Alright, I'm gonna head over there - I'll catch up with you in a bit." He looked around the living room as he zipped up his jacket, lips pursed in thought, before he looked down at Ian, "Dude can I borrow your scarf? I spilled some shit down mine earlier."

Ian raised his eyebrows, trying to think of an excuse, "Uh... left mine at school bud, sorry."

"No worries. . . Jimmy, I'm stealing yours!"

"Careful with it, it's cashmere!" Jimmy half-shouted behind him, his voice falling on deaf-ears as Lip disappeared out the door.

***********  
"Bears win?" Lip asked with a smirk as he walked in the front door, holding it open behind him for Mandy. Jimmy was sat, pouting, in the living room and Fiona and Liam were playing on the kitchen counter, both smiling from ear to ear.

"Jimmy bet against them," Ian answered, voice light, as he walked over to them, "Of course the Bears won!" Mandy grinned at him and he smiled at her, rubbing his thumb lightly over the split in her lip before he pulled her in for a tight hug.

She gripped him back, tighter than she had in a while, his t-shirt fisted between her long fingers and he squeezed her even tighter for a moment before he pulled back, his eyes meeting hers, "Missed you at school today."

"Well you have the pleasure of my company tonight," she replied, looking over him in the faux-flirty way she always did. She socked him playfully in the arm as she headed towards the staircase, "Going for a shower."

He nodded and watched after her as she disappeared up the stairs. Lip put a cigarette between his lips and Ian looked at him and noticed the tight set of his mouth. Ian frowned at his brother, eyes full of questions.

"Terry's a prick," he answered simply, lighting up and offered his cigarette packet to Ian.

"Yeah I know," Ian said, shaking his hand at the packet in front of him, just as Jimmy traipsed into the living room, his feet shuffling along on the floor. He placed his beer bottle down on the counter beside Liam with a tired sigh, "I'll get you that ticket as soon as."

Ian chewed on the inside of his lip in thought. "Uh..." Jimmy looked up at him expectantly and Ian moved and sat down on one of the stools at the counter, "Actually I've got something else in mind."

Raising his eyebrows, Jimmy smirked, "Designated driver for next year's gay pride?"

Hearing Lip snort out a laugh behind him, Ian just rolled his eyes and replied "No."

"Going to take my little munchkin up to bed," said Fiona, hoisting Liam up onto her hip and looking down at him. "Say goodnight Liam."

"Niiight," Liam sang, a big grin plastered on his face. Jimmy leaned in and kissed the top of his head as Lip and Ian waved.

Ian grinned as Liam waved back, his face scrunched up cutely; his lips puckered in amusement, "Night bud."

Fiona kissed Jimmy's cheek and made her way into the living room.

With a pleased smile, Jimmy tipped his head towards Ian, "Go on?"

Ian paused for a second feeling awkward, his fingers tapping a mindless rhythm against the underside of the counter, "...you still got that friend that works at the hotel?"

He watched as Jimmy processed what he was asking, his face serious for a moment before he cocked an eyebrow, lips twitching, "You're not going to take my dad are you?"

Lip laughed loudly as he walked round the counter and stood by Jimmy, taking his fingerless gloves off and balling them up into his pocket. Ian looked at them both, unimpressed and straight faced, "No."

A beat passed before Lip stopped laughing, a sour look on his face that made Ian think of the summer that they made money selling homemade lemonade and Mike Cottrell dared Lip to eat a lemon for $5, as he realised, "Really? You're taking... you're taking him?"

"Taking who?" Jimmy asked curiously and Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes as he stressed, arms folded over his chest, glaring at Lip, "No one."

Lip laughed again and clapped Jimmy on the shoulder. "Make sure they lock up anything valuable Jimmy-Jam!" he joked, only half-serious as he ran up the stairs, only narrowing avoiding the cup that Ian threw at him.

Mickey jogged lightly up the front steps to his house, feet hitting the spots he knew wouldn't creak. He stopped outside the front door and took a breath to steady himself. Shaking the snow from his shoulders, he listened to the noises coming from the inside of his house, checking for any signs that Terry was around.

After Mickey had left Ian, he had just walked and walked, his hands curled tightly into fists in his pockets. It was beyond freezing and his lungs felt like blocks of ice in his chest. It was about time he went and stole another coat; Iggy had fucked off with the one he got last year and god only knows what he had done with it.

Mickey's hands were a light shade of purple as he puffed away on the cigarette, the feeling in his fingers having been lost hours before. It was just after 1am and he had never felt so tired in his life.

He'd had a pretty good afternoon with Gallagher in the store, but his half decent mood had gone to shit the minute he'd dropped Ian off. He had other places to go, sure, but those places included drink and drugs and getting so off his face that he could barely remember his own name and Mickey just wasn't in the mood for that tonight.

He hadn't been for a while. He wasn't even sure why, all he knew was that lately the urge to forget everything in a cocktail of pills, coke and beer wasn't as strong; not even on days like today when Terry was on the warpath.

Ian hadn't mentioned Terry again and had instead banged on about Lip and that psycho little brother of his for a while before making a fool of himself at the furniture store. Mickey was actually laughing and joking by the time the security guard started chasing after them, chasing them all the way down the street and giving the two boys a surge of adrenaline that led them all the way to the dugouts.  
It was too cold out to fuck, but their eyes had been lit up with excitement and adrenaline and they had that little extra glint in them that neither of them were quite sure what it meant. They hadn't even kissed, just laughed together until Ian pulled Mickey close to him by his scarf with a wide smile, their hips rubbing against each other and as Ian smiled at him, Mickey thought maybe it wasn't just the close contact that had made him feel suddenly warm.

The cold air hit him now, just as suddenly as that warmth did earlier and Mickey stubbed out his cigarette against the door frame before closing his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. He let out a deep sigh and watched as it came out in puffs of smoke against the bitter air. His heart stilled in his chest for a moment as he heard a creaking from inside the house.

Stepping backwards from the front door, he ran a tired hand over his face, mentally berating himself for being such a pussy - he should be used to this by now. He'd had his dad's bad mood and bitch fits for the last 9 or so years and he didn't understand why his heart still hammered like a woodpecker in his chest, like an army marching through his veins, making his insides feel like they were set to vibrate. A drumming running through him so loud and so real that he was surprised it wasn't visible to everybody else.

Mickey took another breath, relaxing at the cloud of cold air that came with it. He steadied his shaking hands by fingering the fringe of Ian's scarf and he rolled his eyes at the way his heart beat over itself in his chest, a different kind of racing as he remembered the way Gallagher had looped the scarf over his head and had pulled him closer to him.

Feeling calmer as thoughts of Ian washed over him, Mickey rolled his eyes at himself before he curled his fingers around the door handle and pushed it open, cringing as the hinges creaked loudly at him.

He scratched at his nose as he poked his head round into the living room, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw a half-naked Terry passed out, beer cans spread out around him, quiet snores muffled by a pillow.

Mickey rubbed at his stomach as it growled in protest at the lack of food he'd had that day. Ian had had just enough money for them to split a burger, but Ian had dropped most of his so Mickey had called him a fucking idiot before tearing his in half and handing it to him.

He made his way to the kitchen, practically on his tip-toes and reached up and pulled out an almost out of date loaf of bread. Bringing it to his nose, Mickey smelt it and shrugged before opening the fridge door and grabbing some peanut butter and jelly from it. He checked on his dad again before he grabbed a knife from the sink, wiping it clean on his joggers as he walked into his bedroom and closed the door.

**************  
**Message Sent 10:11am To: Mick**  
pack a bag. Be ready for 11.


	3. Chapter 3

Ian walked into the busy Gallagher kitchen, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He picked up a slice of toast from Mandy's plate and raised his eyebrows cheekily at the un-amused look she gave him in return.

As he zipped up his coat all the way to the top, Mandy rooted through a plastic bag beside her. She stood up and unzipped the top of his coat, looping a scarf around his neck and tying it loosely before she tucked it into his coat and zipped it back up just a little, "You got me this?"

"You said you lost yours," she replied, shrugging, "I was getting some stuff for myself, so I thought I'd pick it up."

"Thanks," he grinned and leaned forward, kissing her forehead and wrapping an arm around her loosely in a half-hug.

"You going to tell me who this guy is yet?" she asked with a smirk as she held onto his waist and he smiled, biting into the toast and pulling out of her hold, opening the door.

"Nope," he replied with a laugh as the door closed behind him.

As he turned down Mickey's block, Ian could see him sat on the front step of the Milkovich porch. There was a bag packed beside him as he puffed on a cigarette like it was a lifeline, eyes darting up and down the street. He looked almost impatient as he scratched at his temple roughly with his thumb. His eyes met Ian's as he moved closer, a flickering of something Ian didn't understand shooting through them.

Ian pushed open the gate and threw his hand up in a wave. Mickey chucked him a small smile in response "Hey"

"It's only ten to," Ian pointed out, because he couldn't help doing so, "What're you already doing out here? It's freezing."

His eyes lingered on the scarf around Mickey's neck and he had to resist the urge to smile.

Mickey stood up and jogged down the last few steps. As he reached the bottom, he pulled the cigarette from between his lips and shrugged one shoulder, "Dad's up."

Ian nodded in response and knew better than to comment, so he just swallowed loudly and shifted his bag further up onto his shoulder, "You ready to go?"

"Where are we going?" Mickey asked as he walked out the gate and held it open behind him with his foot for Ian.

"Somewhere," the younger boy said vaguely, smirking, amusement in his features as Mickey frowned at him.

"Somewhere that requires me to pack a bag?"

Ian raised his eyebrows, could feel the annoyance practically radiating from Mickey, but he didn't seem to be making any move to walk off and forget it so Ian didn't feel the need to cave in and tell him.

"Yup," he chuckled as Mickey rolled his eyes.

"Why?" Mickey asked, blowing smoke out of his nose.

Ian just smirked and took the cigarette from between his fingers.

"Why?" Mickey asked again, the word coming out in a puff of cold air as the two boys sat down on the almost empty El, throwing their bags onto the seat next to them and sticking their snow-trodden feet up on the chair.

"It's a surprise," Ian answered, his boredom of Mickey's persistent questioning evident in his tone as he looked out at the window as they started to move.

"I don't like surprises," Mickey pointed out, like Ian didn't already know that.

"You'll like this one," Ian replied, confident and he smiled so genuinely that Mickey had to look away, his eyes cast to the ground as he just shrugged in response.

"Come on, this is our stop," Ian stood as he picked up Mickey's bag and chucked it to him, before he picked up his own and made his way to the exit doors, not even bothering to give Mickey another glance, knowing he would follow.

"Can't you just tell me?" came Mickey's voice from behind him, gruff and quiet, obviously not liking being kept in the dark.

"Nope," Ian answered, keeping it simple for fear he may accidentally crack. He twisted his head to look back at Mickey, whose lips were drawn tight in annoyance, as he stepped out of the doors and made his way to the steps. It was difficult not to smirk at the expression on Mickey's face.

"Seriously?" Ian jogged down the stairs, could hear Mickey just a step or two behind him, "Seriously you're not going to tell me?"

"Nope," he laughed, turning back and facing Mickey as they walked along the slush and snow covered sidewalk. Ian barely had a chance to take in the sly grin on Mickey's face before the dark-haired boy jumped and wrapped his arms around his head, dragging Ian down to waist height. Ian choked out a laugh, his arms snaking around to grip Mickey's waist, bag still gripped in his hand, his shoulder digging sharply into Mickey's side.

He could feel Mickey vibrating with laughter against his head as his arms gripped tighter around Ian's neck, "You gon' tell me now?"

With a laugh, Ian pulled back and shoved his shoulder into the dip in Mickey's side, shocking him enough to loosen his grip for just long enough for Ian to pull his head free, "Nope."

"Dick," Mickey laughed, eyes crinkling around the edges and snowflakes catching in a clump on his lashes, as he shoved Ian away from him.

"Come on," Ian grinned as he pulled on Mickey's elbow, pulling him round the corner, "We're almost there."

Ian felt Mickey pull away from his fingers, making a point of digging around in his pockets and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Suppressing an eye roll, Ian waited until Mickey had lit up before he pointed in front of them, "Here"

Mickey looked at Ian, eyebrows drawn together in confusion before his eyes travelled along Ian's arm and across to where he was pointing.

Ian could see him looking around, not understanding until his eyes fell on the hotel across the street from them. It practically sparkled, even in the dull grey of winter. It stood out against the rest of the street, tall and proud and grand.

Mickey visibly shrunk away from it as he flicked his eyes back towards Ian, lip curled, "What the fuck, a fancy ass hotel?" He snorted smoke out of his nose, gesturing wildly in front of him, "You're taking me here?"

Ian just rolled his eyes, like he hadn't expected a different response; because honestly he hadn't. He hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder, gripping the strap with both hands as he shoved playfully against Mickey, "Shut up, just meet me in room 420 in ten minutes, okay."

It wasn't a question, not really, and Ian waited until Mickey just raised his eyebrows in response, taking a pull on his cigarette with a mumbled, "Whatever," before he jogged across the busy road and made his way inside.  
************


	4. Chapter 4

He stubbed out the cigarette, crushed it with his toes against the trodden snow on the ground and exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair that had stiffened from too much gel and the cold air and he wondered what the hell Gallagher was playing at.  
Mickey didn't do fancy hotels, he didn't even do cheap, shitty ones. What was Ian trying to do, impress him? Did he expect this kind of thing to happen from now on? He didn't care about hotels so posh that he couldn't even pronounce the food on the menu, hotels that had maids and people that smiled brightly and other things that he couldn't wrap his head around.  
He couldn't understand why Ian had brought him here. He thought they had a good thing going with fucks in the store and the cheap thrills at almost getting caught. Fuck, Mickey was happy with the two of them just hanging out, even without the promise of sex. Was Ian not?

He lit up another cigarette, working the situation over in his mind, wondering what Ian even wanted from this night. Was his intention to make Mickey feel two feet tall and so inferior, waving the fancy hotel in front of him, dangling it like a red rag in front of a bull, showing him what Ian could get elsewhere, proving that he _did_ know he was better than Mickey and it wasn't just something that plagued Mickey's thoughts, but something that was true.

He looked around at the few people scattered on the street, walking back to their homes, their jobs, their lives and he wondered idly if they had seen him with Ian and what they'd thought of them. He wondered if they'd seen Ian's wide smile and his freckles and questioned what he was doing, being seen with someone like him.  
Mickey often questioned it himself.  
He wondered if they, these strangers on the street, could tell what he and Ian were - what the fuck even were they? - wondered if they saw a couple of horny teenagers who clearly didn't belong on this side of town. He wondered, with a smirk etched on his face, if they thought the two boys were out on the rob, a couple of Southies out to make some quick cash.

As he looked around him, cigarette burnt down almost to the butt, he looked at the blank faces of everyone and he wondered how things would have turned out for him if he had been born on the Northside like these people. He tried to picture himself in smart, tight fitting, designer trousers and a fitted shirt that smelt like the fabric softener he saw advertised on the TV that cost $6 a bottle and smelt of lemon and mandarin. Mickey stubbed out the cigarette on a post and dropped it to the ground, another bit of grey on the clean streets of the Northside, another thing that didn't belong there. As he crossed the street to the hotel, flipping off a car that beeped his horn at him, Mickey wondered if Southside was something that you just were, rather than a place you were born.

Glancing behind him, back towards the El, Mickey briefly considered running back towards it, jumping on the El and going back home, back to the Southside, back to where he belonged and leaving Ian and the Northside and all the things that were too good for him behind.  
An Indian guy with his wife and young child caught his eye and his thoughts snapped harshly, like a rubber band twanging against his skin, to Kash and how easily Ian gave him up for Mickey. He swallowed down the sour thoughts of Kash, his fingers twitching against the scar on his thigh and he turned his head back, up at the golden sign above him as he stood under the shelter of the hotel and he thought 'fuck it'.

Ian had chosen to bring him here. He didn't bring Kash and he didn't bring that Hugh Hefner wannabe, he didn't bring that ROTC guy who he probably had more in common with and he didn't bring anybody else he was screwing around with. He brought Mickey. So maybe Ian didn't want anything except a good fuck on a decent mattress and that's all there was too it. And if Mickey was being completely honest, that sounded like the best thing he'd ever heard.

With one glance outside and a wad of his spit hitting the ground, Mickey made his way inside the hotel, smiling widely, cockily, at the guy at the door in his stupid hat and fancy white gloves. Mickey thought it was pretty impressive how he managed to keep something so white and so clean and he laughed to himself, knowing that the gloves wouldn't last thirty seconds if they were left in his care.  
He strolled straight past the receptionist and the bell boys in their lame, itchy-looking red and gold uniforms. He ignored the untrusting and curious stares that burned into his back all the way to the elevator. He twisted his head just so, eyeing the receptionist and scoffed to himself, knowing full well he didn't belong there.  
He would never belong somewhere like this - But like fuck was he giving up tonight for anyone.

With a ding, the elevator doors slipped open and he smirked as the atmosphere changed at his mere presence. There were only two other people in there - an older, grey-haired man in a suit so well fitted it probably cost more than Mickey's house and a woman, blonde curls draped down past her shoulders and a tight red dress that showed off her every asset.  
The guy practically oozed Northside from his every pore. His back straightened under Mickey's stare, his nose turned up at him, his eyes cast away from Mickey as he stepped further away from him, like poor was contagious.

Mickey clicked his jaw as the doors closed behind him. He turned his body half towards the row of buttons against the wall and flicked his eyes back towards the old man, made sure the man was looking at him before he pointedly ran his hand along every button, the metal screeching at the contact, leaving a trail of smeared fingermarks along them.

Mickey smiled at him smugly and stepped just an inch closer, taunting him, hating him for looking down his nose at him.  
The guy stepped back, the backs of his feet now pressed firmly against the back wall of the elevator. Mickey sniffed loudly, making noises in the back of throat like he was hocking up a wad of phlegm and scoffed at the curl of distaste that set in the guy's lip as he purposely avoided eye contact, his head turned slightly toward the wall.  
Mickey shifted his amused gaze to the woman linking on to the old guy's arm. She was dressed to the nines in red and gold and Mickey wondered if she'd done that on purpose, to fit in at the posh hotel.  
His mouth fell open in what Ian calls his 'dirty grin', his tongue pressed into the back of his teeth, as he ran his eyes over the woman. Mickey could see it - He could see the glint in her eyes and the set to her mouth and the way that she held herself.  
There was just something about her that radiated Southside.

He smiled at her like he knew and she just smirked right back, her green eyes lit like fire with amusement as she straightened her posture, her gaze on him.  
He could see she was paid for, well paid, and she was comfortable enough with the old geezer for this not to be her first time here. He laughed and stood beside her, facing the doors. Her eyes still on him, she let a quiet laugh slip out and Mickey grinned wider, holding eye contact with her, as the old guy pulled her closer to him, away from Mickey.  
**-**  
Mickey walked into the hotel room, room 420, with a smirk on his face. The hallways alone were fancier than any place he had ever seen, he was pretty sure he's the dirtiest thing the hotel had ever seen, but this room was something else.

It was one long room with an adjoining bathroom, the walls decorated in light browns and beiges and there was one long window that covered most of the back wall, overlooking Chicago. Not too shabby at all.

He dropped his bag on the floor and looked at Ian, tugging idly at the scarf around his neck, who was sprawled comfortably on the bed, eyes running over Mickey, unashamed. As he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes still on Ian, running freely, openly, over his face and body, Ian's lips turned up in a lazy smile, "Any chance I'm getting that back?"

Pointedly dropping the scarf on top of his bag, Mickey snorted, "Fuck no man. Didn't take you for an Indian giver"

"That's racist"

Kicking off his shoes, Mickey lay down on the bed next to Ian, shifting closer even though there was more than enough room for the two of them, and chose to ignore his comment.  
He looked around, could see Ian's eyebrows quirked up, his eyes studying Mickey's profile, "this place is the fucking nuts man." He flicked a glance towards Ian, one half of his mouth pulled up in amusement, "Should've seen the looks I was getting on the way up here"

After a few seconds of silence Mickey fidgeted, fingers twitching for something to do; always looking for something to do, something to hold. He watched as Ian lay still on the bed, eyes on the TV. So still that the rise and fall of his chest was the only thing that made Mickey know he was even alive.  
Mickey wondered, always amazed, at how Ian could do that - lay so perfectly calm and still, relax enough to actually zone out and do nothing. Mickey couldn't do that without a joint.

Without one, he always had to be fidgeting, on the go and moving, otherwise he'd get this surge of impatience, like a nervous energy and his brain would be working too fast and he seemed to possess this restlessness, this hyper-aware energy that made it almost impossible to slow down or sit still.  
His mum used to tell him that he was like that even when he slept. She used to say that he slept like he knew danger was on the other side of the door, with curled fists and white knuckles drawn at his side, teeth clenched tight. She said he was always seemingly half awake, even when he appeared dead to the world.  
But Ian wasn't like that - he could fall asleep anywhere, leaving himself open and vulnerable and at anyone's mercy and Mickey just didn't understand that.

Shaking a baggy and some papers out of his jacket pocket, he began rolling a joint, the bed shifting as Ian sat up against the headboard, flicking off the TV with the remote box, "How'd you bag a place like this?"

"I made a bet with Fiona's boyfriend" Ian said and Mickey thought he remembered Ian mentioning something about always winning against someone and managing to wrangle some free tickets for baseball or hockey or something, "He always loses and I was bored of football tickets."

"It's fucking sweet man." He flicked his tongue out along the edge of the paper, eyebrows lifted as he turned his head slightly towards Ian, "You should make bets with him more often."

"Yeah" Ian lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, "It's not too bad"

Lighting the joint, Mickey took a pull and turned his head to look at Ian, "Not too bad?!" he asked, smoke spilling out of his mouth and nose like a waterfall, "Are we laying on the same bed? I feel like the fucking Zugor, sleeping on air" The corner of his lips turned up around the joint as his brain began to shut off and his muscles began to relax and he let himself sink into the bed, taking another glance around the room, "Wouldn't mind living like this for a while."

Ian took in a breath and narrowed his eyes at him, "You talking about Tarzan?"

"Wha-Tarzan 2 man." Mickey clarified, like it should've been obvious, "That film's badass."

Mickey let an annoyed breath out of his nose as Ian got a big, stupid grin on his face and reached over, plucking the joint from Mickey's lips like he was given some kind of permission.

His lips around the joint, taking a pull, Ian smirked, one eye scrunched up as he took a hit, "I watched it with Liam the other week - that big ass ape reminds me of you."

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Mickey could feel the corners of his mouth creeping up in a smile similar to Ian's, "The violent one that likes to smash shit up?"

"Yeah"

Mickey snorted out a laugh, "Fuck you. Ha" he pressed his lips together, fought a smile and lost as he shook his head, "Mandy says that too."

Ian ran his tongue lazily over his lip, the weed hitting him as he took another drag, "Carl was asking after you the other day"

"Your brother?" his eyebrows crinkled "Why?"

"Heard from Mandy about some hunting knife you've got" Ian replied casually and Mickey felt the sudden urge to place a pillow under his head as it went almost loose against the headboard as the weed swam through his system, "He wants to know if you can teach him some moves."

"Oh yeah?" Mickey asked, looking away, eyes glancing down at the bed covers "the future serial killer of Chicago wants me to help him out?"

"Ay look at this way" Ian started, laughter building in his throat, "he'll probably let you live when he goes on his killing spree"

"Yeah that or ill be his first victim"

Ian was going to be giggly; Mickey could tell by the way his voice sounded like laughter when he spoke, "Ha he's not that bad."

He raised his eyebrows disbelievingly as he took the joint back from Ian, mouth full of smoke when he began talking, "I caught him and that little fucking blonde kid breaking into the school a few weeks back. They were gonna steal all the science equipment and try to make bombs or fucking poison people or some shit."

"He put rat poison in my cousin's sandwich once." Ian said randomly, after a few moments of silence,

"You're seriously not worried about that kid?"

"No" Ian snorted and Mickey didn't have to look at him to know that he was grinning like an idiot, "he likes me."

Resting his head against the headboard, Mickey turned so he could see Ian properly, eyes heavy, "Ha yeah it's just the rest of us that are fucked."


	5. Chapter 5

Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey's waist, pulled him up to him as he fell back onto his knees, Mickey's back pressed sweatily against his chest, moaning loudly, freely in a way they've not been able to before.

"Fu-Fuck" Mickey bit out, breathless, his head tipping back against Ian's collarbone, his mouth falling open, his hands curled into fists, looking for some sort of balance, something to grip onto now that they weren't fisted in the sheets. Ian pressed his lips against the taut skin of Mickey's neck, kissing it gently before he bit down, eliciting a moan so ragged from Mickey that it sounded like it had been torn right out of him.

"Oh shit G-Gallagher" He felt Mickey steady himself, holding onto Ian's thigh as they moved in sync, Ian bucking into him as Mickey pushed back, tightening around him.

Letting out a rush of breath, Ian groaned as he dug his fingers into Mickey's waist, felt the skin tear under his jagged nails. Mickey hissed and dug his own nails harder into Ian's thigh, feeling the muscles tense under him.

Ian pushed down into the mattress and held Mickey in place as he half pulled out. Mickey groaned at the feeling of Ian leaving him, but it was short-lived as he slammed back in, Ian's teeth marking the older boy's back as his hips rolled forwards sharply again and again, his arm circling Mickey's waist again, his other arm propping them up.

"Cramp" Ian said breathlessly into Mickey's shoulder a few minutes later,

"What?" Mickey asked, his lips not really forming the word as he focused on moving his hips, pushing back onto Ian,

"Cramp" he said more forcefully as his calf muscle twinged underneath him, "Turn around."

"What?" Mickey repeated, practically growling this time as Ian pulled out and lifted him off of him, stretching out his legs and flexing his toes as Mickey turned himself around and re-positioned himself, wasting no time in sliding himself back into place on Ian's dick.

"Better?" Mickey mocked with a small smile on his lips that got swallowed up in a hiss as Ian gripped his hips and thrust his own up in response.

Ian watched as Mickey's mouth fell open as he tightened his muscles around him, his hands moving round to cup the back of Ian's neck, fingers snaking their way into Ian's cropped hair and Ian almost reeled his head back in surprise. Mick had never done that before, never held onto him, never been so intimate and he was half ducking his head and biting on his lower lip, eyes cast down, as Ian moved inside of him and Ian thought it might just be the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Ian felt as his face twitched when Mickey started to move, faster and faster, having more control over the thrusts than he usually did now that he was on top. His mouth dropped open in an ugly grimace as he struggled to hold back a moan, his balls tightening with the need to release.

But then Mickey lifted his head, as if responding to Ian's urgent moans, and he was looking at him, actually looking at him. He usually avoided eye contact during sex and Ian thought he saw a flash of something on Mickey's face that meant he wanted to do just that - he wanted to look away and keep this as just sex and nothing more. Except Ian felt it too.

He couldn't look away from Mickey's eyes and he couldn't get enough of the way that they brightened with lust as he took in the sight of Ian. A look flashed through them that Ian didn't understand, but It made him want to bury himself under Mickey's skin, made his balls ache and his dick throb and it had him so afraid that he was going to come in ten seconds, like he was fifteen years old.

Ian almost laughed as he remembered that he was barely even seventeen and, fuck, he felt so much older than that. He felt almost middle-aged with his responsibilities and all the things he had seen. Except right now - except every time he was with Mickey.

He thrust harder into him, Mickey meeting each snap of Ian's hips with equal force as he gripped the backed of Ian's head, pulled them even closer together as he moaned into Ian's neck, his warm breath coming out ragged, tangible against Ian's skin.

"I'm gonna come" Ian growled out, both of his arms wrapped around Mickey, scratching at his back, pressing his hips up, thrusting harder and deeper, watching as Mickey's head fell back and he let out a moan that reminded Ian of that moment when you finally break out above the surface of the water after being held under it for so long.

"F-Fuck," Mickey moaned out a curse as he reached behind him and Ian felt a pull on his forearm. He moved it, Mickey's hand on his, pushing it blindly down towards his untouched dick. Ian curled his palm around Mickey's shaft, Mickey's hand covering his own and, with the other boy's hand guiding his, he slowly began moving, pumping his fist, listening to the hitch in Mickey's breath.

They moved faster, harder and with one last slam up into Mickey, Ian lost control as he screwed his eyes shut so tight he felt like he could see fireworks behind his lids. He felt Mickey's nails as they dug into his ribs as he reached his own climax, his whole body freezing, muscles drawn taut in Ian's arms, come dripping down Ian's hand. Ian barely had a chance to move it before Mickey fell limp against him with a husky laugh, his face hidden against Ian's collarbone.

As he softened inside Mickey, both boys managed to catch their breath and then, without warning, Mickey pulled off of him and rolled away, collapsing in a naked heap on the bed, eyes cast to the ceiling, "We probably shoulda shut the blinds"

Ian turned his head, Mickey's own now facing him and they laughed for a moment before Mickey reached blindly down beside the bed, pulling up a cigarette box and a lighter, taking one out and lighting it before he threw the box and lighter back onto the floor.

He took a long pull with a sharp intake of breath and passed it over to Ian, "Fuck, man, that was good"

Ian nodded, index finger curled like a hook around the cigarette in his mouth before he pulled it away, "Mmm, forgot what it was like to do that in a proper bed"

Mickey smirked at him, "What you too good for the back room at the Kash 'n' Grab now?"

With a chuckle, Ian moved his arm under his head "Wouldn't change that. Just nice to be able to mix it up now and again"

Taking the cigarette back from Ian's fingers, Mickey sat up, back propped against the headboard, "Wouldn't change it huh?"

"Why else do you think I've stuck there so long?" Ian grinned, "I turned down two better paid jobs to stay there"

"Afraid you wouldn't be able to get off between lulls huh?" Ian watched as the cigarette burned down between Mickey's lips before he answered, smugly,

"I can _get off_ anywhere"

Mickey just looked at him, one side of his mouth turned up in a smirk around the cigarette, but he didn't comment.

Ian relaxed further into the pillows, felt Mickey fidget beside him, felt the mattress dip as he shifted and stubbed out the cigarette on the bedside table.

Mickey had barely put out the cigarette before he scrambled over the bed, putting on his boxers and picking up his bag. Ian frowned, but didn't say anything.  
The whole point of today, tonight, was that they didn't have to do this; they didn't have to rush around and worry about getting caught.

He let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding when he saw Mickey pulling the sweets from his bag; jelly tots and fizzy laces and soft drumsticks and laying them all in his lap.  
He moved up, sat with his back against the bed, half propped up against the headboard and watched as Mickey, sat on the bottom of the bed, tore into the bag of jelly tots with all the grace of the Hulk, smiling wider than a child at Christmas up at Ian as they went everywhere, all over the floor. Ian couldn't help the smile that spread across his own face in return.

Ian loved Mickey in moments like this; when he wasn't so hell-bent on pissing everyone off and being a public menace. He was like it quite often around him, had been since early on when they first started fucking. Not really in a romantic way, but just like friends.  
Mickey treated Ian like a friend and if Ian was honest, outside of Lip, he'd never really had that. He'd never had someone to go to when he was having a shitty time at home or somewhere to hide out when Frank was being an asshole, but with Mickey, he did, he does.  
He had the friend he'd always wanted and it didn't matter that it came in the form of a thieving, pissed off delinquent, because truth be told, Ian was no better. Never had been.  
He was just like Mickey, except he had someone to kick his ass into shape when he started going off the rails. He had Fiona where Mickey had no one.

That was the thing that first intrigued him about Mickey when he got to know him - how alike they were. Ian always thought that the good traits he possessed were thanks to his older sister and the influence she had on him, but then he saw Mickey and saw the good traits in him. They may have been buried under a scowl and thick layer of grime and dirt, but they were there. He was smart about things and he played into the lifestyle of the Southside rather than drowning it like most people and he kind of reminded Ian of Lip in that sense. He was fiercely protective of Mandy and he believed in family, no matter how fucked up his was. Mickey kept his mouth shut even when he didn't have too and he never fought unless it was necessary - he saw fighting as a way of ending a feud, rather than fuelling it; a means to an end.  
Mickey made Ian think that maybe he might still of had a chance even without Fiona's guidance.

"Dude you're pulling such a dumb fucking face right now" came Mickey's voice as it pulled Ian out of his thoughts,

"what?"

A look of what Ian thought was fondness or something like it appeared in Mickey's eyes "You're pulling your come face"

"No- no I wasn't" Ian half-shouted, his face screwed up in protest, as his face flushed pink with embarrassment,

"It's the dumbest face" Mickey snorted as he dangled some fizzy candy shoelaces into his mouth before bending over and picking up a jelly tot from the floor, chucking it at Ian,

"shut up man, you should see yours" Ian retorted, easily dodging the candy as it bounced off the headboard.

Mickey grinned at him, sugar spotted around his lips, "You wanna?" he licked the sugar from around his mouth and Ian shouldn't have found it sexy but for some messed up reason he did.

But even Ian couldn't recover that quickly. He raised his eyebrows and crawled over the bed, closer to Mickey, when he heard Mickey's stomach growling loudly. Wiping some sugar from Mickey's top lip with his thumb, Ian sucked on it, watched as Mickey's eyes flashed with something like desire, before he pulled the tip of his thumb from his mouth and scolded, "you're hungry"

Mickey leaned in towards Ian's mouth, a small grin on his face, "Not for food right now"

Ian snorted, blinked away an eye roll as he stood up, "Eat first"

He wheeled over the room service trolley that he had had Jimmy's guy bring up before they arrived. Shiny, silver lids covered the top of each plate and he could see Mickey's eyes roaming over them, studying them, an unsure frown on his face, his mouth turned down,

"Ah man, can't we just order a fucking pizza or some shit?" he scratched at the stubble on his cheek, "It's probably something French and fancy"

Ian smirked and lifted one of the lids, revealing a McDonald's burger box on a hotplate.  
Mickey grinned really wide as Ian chucked the box to him. Ian smiled to himself and jumped back on the bed with some barely warm fries whilst Mick sat on the edge of the bottom of the bed and opened his box.

He turned his head and looked at Ian, eyebrows drawn in confusion, "How'd you know I like the nacho burger?"

Ian shrugged, looking at Mickey, wondering if he was being serious, "We've been fucking for a while now Mick, ya kinda pick up on the little things"

Mickey frowned at him, curious, before he put the burger back on the trolley and crawled across the bed to sit back beside Ian "Yeah? Like what?"

"Like..." Ian breathed out of his nose, offering a fry to Mickey who took four and shoved them ungracefully into his mouth all at once, "How you hate cheese burgers and prefer nacho burgers." He snorted, "Which is fucking nuts by the way"

He bit into the end of a fry and chewed on it in thought "Or that you actually read all those articles in the magazines you always got your head stuck in at work" he shrugged, suddenly nervous under Mickey's gaze, "You don't notice shit like that?"

Mickey rolled his eyes and sat himself round on the bed to face Ian properly, "I don't_ always_ read the articles." he chewed the skin on his thumb, his voice almost quiet when he asked, "What else do you notice?"

With a smirk, Ian replied "I know you haven't eaten a snickers bar since Kash shot you"

With his face screwed up, Mickey started to protest "What-I have- whatever man that's a coincidence" He looked away from Ian like a petulant child as he muttered into the heel of his hand, "They're not even that nice anyway."

Ian laughed as Mickey scratched at his head, eyebrows knitted together in thought,

"I know shit -" he started, not quite looking at Ian, "like you think that Van Damme could take Segal - Which is totally fucking wrong"

"Not wrong."

"So wrong"

"Whatever" Ian rolled his eyes towards Mickey, "That doesn't count anyway – 'cause I told you I think that."

Raising his eyebrows like Ian was the biggest know-it-all he'd ever met, Mickey flicked his hands towards him, "Ok Mr. Observant. Tell me something else."

Ian paused for a moment, eyes not leaving Mickey's, "I know that you got a huge boner for cartoon films"

"I do not" the darker haired boy protested, folding his arms across his chest,

Ian looked at Mickey for a second, a wide grin slowly creeping across his features, "Woody is a jackass"

"Fuck you, Woody is cool as fuck."

Ian smirked but didn't say anything as Mickey fidgeted uncomfortably,

"So I like animation?" He shrugged, his voice defensive "So what?"

Ian frowned, sitting up slightly, "You seriously don't pick up on shit like that?" he raised his eyebrows, shrugging his mouth, "You know nothing about me?"

Mickey got a dirty grin on his face, his eyebrows arched in the way that Ian always knew meant there was a cheeky comment coming his way, a look that Ian - if he was honest - always looked forward too, "I know you always fuck like there's gold buried in my ass and you're broke."

Ian laughed, loudly, "Ha that doesn't count"

"Wha-" scratching his eyebrow with his thumb, Mickey shrugged, moving round to stand up "Fuck no, man. Guess I just don't pay attention."

Mickey sucked the sugar from his fingers as he stood up, wiping his hands down his joggers before he walked into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open.  
Ian turned the TV on and flicked through the channels, raising the volume as the sounds of Mickey's pee hitting the bowl echoed through the room.

He smirked as he settled on a film that Mickey would love. He remembered Mandy going on about it a Christmas or two ago, she wanted to steal it from the Walmart a few blocks from the Kash 'n' Grab for Mickey, had said that Mickey had been bitching about wanting to see it since 2008 when he'd seen an interview with Tom Hanks about it, she said he pitched a fit when it finally got released and she wanted to get him something other than beers and knives for once.

The film was already halfway in but Ian knew that Mickey had watched it more than once, so he wouldn't mind too much. As he came back in the room, wiping his damp hands on his trousers, Ian noticed his eyes lighting up just slightly when he realized what was on the screen.  
He sat down, snorted at the image of Buzz Lightyear on the screen as he walked the halls of the daycare, "Buzz is such a douche, man" he shook his head at the TV, "fucking thinks he's a patriot for his galaxy, saving the world from bad guys and shit." with a small, cheeky grin on is face, he turned his head back to Ian, "Just like you and your cracked idea about the army, protecting America. Newsflash dude" he turned his head back to the TV as he wheeled the trolley closer to him with his foot, "the bad guys are already here."

Reaching down the bed, Ian jabbed Mickey's side with his big toe and Mickey did nothing but turn his head and smirk at him, licking some sauce from his thumb as he removed the last of the silver lids and began unwrapping their meals.

Ian watched as Mickey finished un-wrapping their burgers - his nacho and Ian's cheese. Mickey was caught up in something on the screen, laughing loudly. He didn't even seem to realise as he removed the top bun of Ian's burger and scraped off the gherkins and relish before he replaced the bun and held it out blindly behind him to Ian.

Ian just smirked to himself - No, of course mickey doesn't pay attention.  
** *************


	6. Chapter 6

"Fuck you, don't be so fucking stupid!" Mickey yelled as he skidded into the doorframe of the bathroom. He turned his head and slid on his socks over to the bathtub, grabbing hold of the shower hose and turning it on full blast.

He let out a laugh as Ian stopped in the door way, cheeks flush with exertion, his forehead damp with sweat and residue from the ice cube that Mickey had rubbed over his forehead while he was snoozing. Apparently Ian didn't like that, if the big bucket of ice cubes in his hands were anything to go by.**  
**  
"Oh and what're you going to do with that?" Ian asked, a daring smile playing on his lips, "the maids are going to hate you if you get their floors wet"

Mickey just grinned and twisted the shower head in his hand, aiming it at Ian, spraying all over his front, the water quickly turning Ian's socks soggy as it began flooding the tiled floor.

Running a hand over his unimpressed face, Ian glared at Mickey, laughter in his voice as he spoke, "Oh you're dead"

Mickey laughed, sprayed him once more with the hose before he stepped backwards, trying to figure out a way to get around Gallagher. Fuck, he was trapped.  
Mickey watched Ian's lips formed into a smile, a big, smug grin as the realization hit him too - Mickey wasn't going anywhere.

Ian edged forward carefully and Mickey could see him calculating his every movement, knowing full well just how sneaky Mickey could be if eyes were taken off of him for just a second. Mickey laughed, tried to swallow down his nerves, as he edged slowly backwards, the floor now drenched in lukewarm water, the hose still in his hand.

"You know" Ian started, his voice thick with that charm Mickey had seen him use on all the old ladies in the store, the one that made Mickey's hands tremor and his palms sweat, "we could always call a truce" Ian stepped closer and closer, eyes never leaving Mickey's and Mickey forced a gulp, reminded himself to breathe as Ian's eyes flamed with happiness and affection and just... Something else that made the skin on the back of Mickey's neck prickle.

Mickey bit his lip as his eyes slowly moved over Ian's body before once again meeting his eyes, "a truce?" he asked, his eyebrow kinked like it was a foreign word to him,

"Yeah - or... we could.,." Ian shrugged like he was trying to be cute and Mickey's dick twitched in his pants, his grip loosening on the shower head, "settle this another way?"

Mickey almost laughed as Ian stumbled on the wet floor. He almost laughed at the stupid look on his face as his feet slipped from underneath him. He almost laughed at the way his arms flailed in the air as he tried to regain his balance. He definitely did not laugh when a whole bucket of ice showered him.  
As it hit his bare chest, a gasp forced its way out of his throat. His body went still, the ice pooling at his feet, two cubes landing, half-melted, on his shoulder, a numb feeling spreading through him as a puddle of water formed, dripping its way down his skin.  
Drips of freezing water glided their way down his chest, trailed their way along his stomach, the fine hairs on his belly glistening as he breathed fast and heavy, a wet patch along the thin material of his boxers.

Ian's mouth was dropped open in shock and as Mickey dropped the showerhead into the bath, he began stuttering an apology, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as Mickey grabbed him and threw him down into the tub, the air rushing out of Ian's lungs as he groaned at the contact, before he jumped in after him, knees half on and half straddling the tops of Ian's thighs.

He laughed as Ian gasped under the feel of his frozen fingertips, both of them soaked through as the water spraying out of the showerhead pooled around them.

Mickey leaned up over Ian, his chest on fire as the contact between them neared, his stomach flipping over on itself, their faces inches apart and he pretended not to enjoy the nervous look in Ian's eye.

"you're a fucking idiot" he said quietly, almost affectionately before he laughed, the breath leaving his mouth mingling with Ian's as he laughed with him, "my dicks shriveled up like a fucking raisin"**  
**  
"you're such a romantic" Ian quipped around a smile and Mickey felt as he pushed his hips up to meet his own.

****He bit his lip as he studied Ian's face; his freckles, his lips, the bridge of his nose, the small scar on his forehead that Mickey often teased him about, calling him Harry. He almost laughed at the memory of Ian waking up the morning after a party, the scowl on his face as he'd seen the marker-drawn glasses across his eyes, an inappropriate joke about him and Ron Weasley in the shower on his chest.  
Mickey just smiled, laid himself properly over Ian and kissed him, one hand reaching over and shutting the world out as he pulled the shower curtain closed around them.

As he looked round at the hotel room - which was probably bigger than his house - with its fancy king size bed and the mattress that didn't have springs popping out of it; that was actually comfortable and didn't leave you with a crick in your neck and with the flat screen TV that he would never be able to afford, Mickey didn't understand. He didn't understand why Ian had ever chosen to be with him; why he had chosen to be with him over Kash and that douchebag at the club and everyone else that he had left behind.

Mickey had always known that he could never give Ian any of this, always known he can't afford luxury weekends at hotels and he could never give Ian presents and order him room service like Ian deserved; but then again Ian could never offer him that. And Mickey knew that he didn't deserve any of that, but he guessed, in a way, it made them equals and maybe that was something Ian had never had with anyone else.

He hated that he couldn't give those things to Gallagher, but fuck it, Ian had chosen him for reasons Mickey would never understand and it probably meant something, probably made him and Ian something, but he was too afraid to ask, too afraid to make things real between them.

Because if they spoke about it, then it became a part of them, it became meaningful and a part of Mickey's life; which meant a part of the Southside and Mickey knew far too well that Southside destroyed everything it touched.

Like a strong wind that pushed and pulled against you until suddenly it was a swirling mess of a tornado that sucked you right into its centre, destroying everything you ever knew, everything that was ever good and chipped away at you until it stripped whole chunks of you away. Like the way a tornado tore a house apart, right to its foundations, leaving you raw like an exposed nerve, with nothing that was good, but also with nothing to lose.

Mickey had seen firsthand, too many times, the destruction that Southside left in its wake. He'd watched far too often as real smiles became fake, as fake smiles became a slight upturn of lips as a bottle was brought to them. He'd seen that same bottle become a crutch, become the only thing that made Southside seem good.

Hell, he'd even seen the damage of the Southside in Ian's face - seen the light in his eyes dim just slightly over the years, the smiles; the big, wide, toothy grins that made Ian look years younger and so fucking naïve had become strained.

He knew Ian saw it in him too. They were both just broken products of the Southside.

But sometimes, in moments like this, when the smiles were so real that they hurt his cheeks, Mickey thought that they _were_ good, truly good. Southside hadn't yet broken whatever it was that they had between them. He sometimes thought that if they could keep it like this, casual and light and without words and reality and other people, then maybe they could stay undamaged.

But looking around at the hotel, the things that he knew Ian wanted and the things he knew he could never give him, he didn't understand it. He wasn't better than Lloyd, hell he wasn't even better than Kash and the thought twisted in his gut, like broken shards of glass.

Still he found himself asking, a feeling he didn't understand swimming in his gut,

"This the sorta place that that geriatric used to bring you?"

Ian shrugged, his head now turned towards Mickey, "...similar"

He scoffed, played it casual, his ears burning, not wanting to hear the answer, "Why the fuck would you give that up?"

A smile played on his lips as Ian rolled his eyes, "Well, when the guy you've been fucking beats the shit out of the other guy you've been fucking, kind of puts a stop to the whole thing?"

"Oh?" Mickey snorted, "So it's my fault?"

Ian laid himself over Mickey, propping himself up with his hands and Mickey tried to control his breathing as Ian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, "It really is." And then he smiled; that small smile that seemed to hold a world of secrets and promises that made Mickey want to smile back with a mouthful of his own; that made him want to do so stupid shit like promise Ian a life he could never deliver.

"Plus," Ian started, one side of his mouth cocking up in the way it did when he was trying to be cute, "You've got a nicer ass."

And _dammit_ if Mickey couldn't feel the wide grin that was pulling at his mouth, threatening to split his face apart, "I _do_ got a great ass."

Mickey thought to himself, with the weight of Ian's body pressing into his, vibrations spreading through him as Ian laughed, that maybe Ian settling for him was the best thing that could ever happen to him.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was finally setting over Chicago, not that the sky looked much different. It had been grey all day and the two boys didn't even notice as the sky darkened, the shops closing down for the night on the ground below them, as they lay together in bed.  
Ian's lips lazily traced the fading bruises on Mickey's neck as he lay almost on top of him, propped up on his elbow and he could feel his features pinched in a pitiful look, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't wipe it from his face and he couldn't put a smile on and pretend that he was okay with what was happening.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, tentative; barely a whisper breathed into Mickey's skin, "you should move out of there"

"What?" He felt Mickey go still underneath him and he closed his eyes for a second, knew he'd pushed too hard. But a part of him wanted to push harder, make Mickey talk about this, talk about what was happening at home and what was leaving him battered and bruised.

He pulled away from Mickey, sat up straight, but pressed his knees harder into Mickey's side, just for the contact, "Away from him. You should leave"

Mickey glared at him, his voice raising just slightly, his shoulders tense as he got defensive, "Don't act like you know fuck all about my situation"

Ian shrugged, a frown falling heavy on his face, "I know you deserve better"

Mickey shook his head and pushed himself up on his palms and Ian felt a rush of cold air against him as Mickey shifted away from him, "You don't know anything. You're one to fucking talk"

With a sigh, Ian twitched his lips, reached out a hand to Mickey's leg that Mickey just shook off like Ian had burned him, "What about your aunt? Your uncle? Can't they help you out"

"Na man" Mickey shrugged, seemed to calm down for a moment, "My aunt only gives a shit about Mandy and my uncle is a hell of a lot fuckin' worse."

"...what about mine?" he asked quietly, "I can sort it with Fiona"

Mickey let out an agitated sigh, kicked at the covers on his legs, the words spilling like water over the edge of a counter from his mouth, "Why the fuck are we talking about this? So what my dad gets a little rough when he's had a few - your situation's no different."

"Frank's not like-"

"Frank's a fucking asshole" Mickey snapped, his voice loud and swimming with suppressed anger, "He gets pushy with you, a fuck-load more than with the others. You've said so yourself" His voice cut like glass and buried itself under Ian's skin, plucking away at his nerves, "Least my dad don't play favourites"

"Oh what?" Ian started, feeling his teeth grind together "'cause he dishes it out fairly?"

"You don't know anything about my dad" Mickey breathed out of his nose and Ian could see the skin at the nape of his neck darken, flushing red with anger,

His voice raised unintentionally as he spoke. Why wasn't Mickey getting this? "I know he's the only person you'd ever let push you around and I don't fucking get why"

"It's none of your fucking business!" Mickey growled, dragging a hand through his hair as his nostrils flared,

Poking at his own chest, Ian's eyes looked into Mickeys, more intense than he meant them, the conversation not going how he'd hoped, "I'm the one that sees you all beat up the day after. I..." he snorted in disbelief, "are you actually defending the guy that made you look like a fucking black and blue twister mat?! Are you serious?"

"Shut -" Mickey rubbed harshly at his chin with the palm of his hand, a sour expression on his face, "Your dad is just as bad as mine" he sneered, "At least mine sticks around all year long"

Ian raised his eyebrows at Mickey, shuffled backwards from him, his anger rising, "Except for when he's in jail you mean?" He leant forward, his lower body still pressed against the mattress, "Your dad is an evil, psychotic prick. The shit he does..."

"Stop talking about him like you even know him" Mickey interrupted, refusing to look at him,

He felt his last nerve as it started to fray, thinner and worn as Mickey defended the prick that was hurting him. He thought of kettles boiling over with too much water, volcanoes erupting in an explosion of red hot lava as he yelled, "Why the fuck are you defending him?! After what he's done to you"

"Because he's my fucking dad! He's..." Mickey stopped himself and scratched at his nose and Ian felt his own anger washing away when Mickey spoke, quieter and calmer than before "he.. He never used to be like this"

"What? He never used to hit you?"

Ian could see Mickey working things over in his mind, arguing with himself, could see the urge to fight or fuck off in his eyes, and he let out a small breath of relief when, instead, Mickey spoke "I mean.. We'd always get a slap if we stepped outta line. But, shit, he was... I don't know, pretty decent. For a while"

A surge of shock ran down his spine like electricity and he looked down at his hands as he admitted "I can't imagine that"

"Just cause both your parents are pretty shitty, don't mean everyone else's always were"

Ignoring Mickey's comment, Ian slumped his shoulders, his posture relaxed as he picked nervously at the skin on his index finger in his lap, "...since your mum?"

"Why the fuck are we talking about this?" Mickey snapped half-heartedly, rolling his eyes away from Ian, pretending that he hadn't just confessed something huge to him, "This isn't some fucking chick flick - what do you want, me to braid your hair next?"

Ian just rolled his eyes right back, could see that there was no point trying with Mickey. He could see the walls building back up behind Mickey's eyes, knew he was just going to receive sarcastic remarks that stung like a whip against his skin if he pressed further, "fine forget it. Sorry for giving a shit. Forget I ever brought it up"

Mickey kept his eyes trained on the door, not looking anywhere near Ian, "Whatever"

Ian turned on the TV and they sat in an awkward silence for a while, the noise and chatter from the TV doing nothing to lessen the tension.  
They'd never been in a situation like this - not talking and nowhere to go - and Ian didn't have a clue what to do. Should he apologise? Should he get Mickey to leave? Should he leave?  
He was frowning and chewing on his lips deep in thought when he felt something drop into his lap.  
He looked down at it and blinked when he realised it was a joint. He looked up at Mickey to find that Mickey was already looking at him, eyes full of apologies that he would never say out loud before he dropped his gaze to the joint still in Ian's lap.  
Ian just picked it up and put it between his lips and gestured for Mickey to pass him a light.  
Mickey held up his lighter, lighting the flame and looking into Ian's eyes as he cupped his hands around the joint. Ian almost sighed as the feeling of Mickey's knuckles brushing against the skin of his cheek, before he took a long drag of the joint and relaxed back against the pillows.  
** ************  
**Mickey had never bought into the whole 'love' bullshit, not even as a kid, not really.

Sure, there was that love people had between families, but it always, especially to him, seemed to be so tinged with hate. The two bled together so smoothly and so cleanly, that Mickey thought 'love' was a pretty stupid word to use for it.

Love is something that was supposed to feel good; like in those moments after sex, after coming, when your chest feels light, your head feels clear and your balls feel empty. In those moments Mickey thought he could understand the term _'making love'_ because love was supposed to make you feel good and, in those moments, he really, truly did.

Maybe that's what love was - shitty moments strung together by a handful of those that felt good; that maybe made the harder times worth it and maybe that's what he and Gallagher had.  
He didn't know. But what he did know was that when he was around Ian, the shitty times didn't feel so shitty and the good times had his heart racing and the tension unknotting in his shoulders and sometimes, better than that, things actually seemed pretty amazing.

Around Gallagher, Mickey didn't feel the strong taste of anger and hostility on his tongue that burned at his insides like acid whenever he swallowed, he didn't feel pissed off and guarded and maybe love was something like that - different to family, different to sex.

Maybe it was the moments in between; the moments with good music, some good weed and that other person.

Maybe love was supposed to wash away the other shit, maybe it was about being able to shed your armor, your mask that you put onto face the world.

Maybe it was about being able to just truly be yourself around someone.

Or, fuck it, maybe Mickey was just far too stoned right now.

He turned his head, his eyes hooded and his lips twitching with the constant urge to smile that always came with some good weed, and he looked at Ian, who's eyes were fixated on the TV screen watching some music video that Ian had been banging on about for weeks and sang constantly - some song about candy or chocolate or something. Mickey would never admit that he didn't hate it.

Ian had his bottom lip sucked between his front teeth, his eyes red and glazed over, matching the colour of his cheeks. He looked younger when he smoked, like the weed took away the aging of his skin that their neighbourhood brought.

He wondered if Ian ever thought the same thing about him.

Using his elbow, Mickey nudged Ian out of his daze and held out the last of the joint to him, his voice husky and low when he spoke, "Here"

Ian stared at him, a stupid lazy smirk on his face as he took the joint, his hand curled around Mickey's in a way that wasn't necessary, but still managed to send electricity shooting through his veins. Mickey wondered if it was similar to the high a junkie felt after getting a long awaited hit.

He must've had a dopey look on his face, because Ian's eyes crinkled as he laughed, his lips wet and redder than Mickey remembered, "You're so fucking high right now."

Mickey slotted his tongue through his teeth and it poked through the right corner of his mouth and he nodded his head heavy with the movement, "_Mmm_."

"It feel good?"

Mickey turned his head to face Ian properly and he stared at him, unblinking and unwavering, eyelids hooded and his teeth bit down on his bottom lip, suppressing that stupid smile that wanted to break out on his face, "_Mmm_, really fucking good"

And it felt even better when Ian grinned and leant over, pressing their lips together, the taste of weed on both of their breaths and the smell of it strong in the air.  
********************


	8. Chapter 8

It was barely ten in the evening and, fuck, they'd been at the hotel for almost 9 hours already and time was going by so quickly. They'd been laying like zombies on the bed for what seemed like forever, barely moving except to get the food that they craved when their high had started to wear off. Ian couldn't even tell you what they were watching except it had Adam Sandler and that chick from Friends in it. He wasn't sure if it was actually funny or the weed was still messing up his mind, but it had kept him and Mickey amused for the last half hour while they had filled up on candy and junk.

Mickey was laid on the bed beside him in just his boxers, sat up against his pillows whilst Ian was laying down with his head against them. Ian reached his hand blindly over, looking for the packet of skittles that they'd been sharing, screwing his face up when his hand grasped at air. He dragged his eyes away from the TV to the image of Mickey pouring the skittles directly into his mouth from the bag.

He rolled his eyes at the sight of Mickey, barely able to close his mouth to chew, skittles poking against the skin of his cheek, "you're a real panty dropper you know that?"

Mouth full of skittles, Mickey snorted out of his nose, tipped his mouth up to speak without spitting candy everywhere, his voice muffled "you dropped yours quick enough when you first saw me"

Ian let out a quick, loud laugh as he scratched at his ear "how the hell was it me that dropped mine? You're the one that was shoving your hard on in my face"

He thought Mickey might've laughed if he wasn't so busy trying to swallow the candy in his mouth. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as Mick chewed animatedly, spluttering a cough as his mouth finally emptied of the skittles, "That's just 'cause yours was poking at my ass cheek" Mickey smirked, handing the half empty packet over to Ian, "what color's my tongue?" he asked, as he stuck out his tongue, a faint rainbow of colors washed over it.

Ian just laughed at him and tipped the rest of the packet over Mickey's head.

Mickey glared at him, nostrils flared and he flicked his tongue over his bottom lip before reaching over and wrapping his arm tightly round Ian's neck, pushing all his weight down as Ian choked out a laugh, jabbing Mickey in the side with a loose fist.

Mickey laughed and Ian felt the arm around his neck tighten like a belt as he fidgeted, shifting round so he could reach Mickey properly. He jabbed at his chest and laughed when Mickey's upper body tumbled back against the headboard, his head colliding against it with a bang, bringing Ian down with him. He landed half on top of Mickey and as Mick sat back up, Ian moved round and straddled his thighs, his grip on them vice-like as he pulled away from the headlock Mickey had him in.  
He felt what was left of his hair pull against Mickey's arm as Mickey tried to hold onto his grip, but Ian was pulling too hard and he just managed to get out of it when Mickey snagged his hand forward and gripped hold of the back of Ian's neck. Ian screwed one side of his face up at the contact and almost fell forward onto Mickey, just managing to put his hands out in time to stop himself.  
He looked through his lashes up at Mickey and saw him looking back. Ian almost laughed as Mickey raised his eyebrows pointedly, a huge smirk on his face as he looked between Ian and his own, now tight boxers. Ian just smiled, feeling his own boxers begin to tent at the close contact, before he leant in and kissed Mickey's neck, flicking a tongue against a bite mark he'd left behind earlier.

Mickey hissed at the sting, but moved his hand down to the bottom of Ian's neck and held him there, wanting more. Ian smiled against Mickey's skin and licked over the goose bumps that appeared from his warm breath.

As he pulled his head back up, Ian ground his crotch into Mickey's, listening out for the changes in his breathing, watched with a tiny smile as Mickey bit at his bottom lip and tried to suppress the moan that still managed to fight its way out.

He pinned Mickey's hands behind his head and looked at him, warned him not to move them, before he took his nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, twisted it between his teeth before running his tongue over it. Mouth still to Mickey's chest, Ian looked up at him , could see the desperation building in him, his fingers twitching with urgency, his hips fighting to thrust upwards, wanting, needing more of Ian's touch.

Ian smirked and flicked his tongue once more over Mickey's nipple before kissing his way slowly, agonizingly slowly, down Mickey's chest, listening, hardening, as the older boy's grunts escalated into moans. He slipped the tip of his tongue just under the elasticated edge of Mickey's boxers, felt Mickey groan, his toes curled against Ian's own.

"Fuck Ian. Get 'em off" Mickey ordered as his arms moved down to his sides. One hand snaked its way into Ian's hair, fingers twirled around the short strands and Ian shook his head at Mickey, forcing both of his hands down at his side.

He could see the impatience building in his eyes, could see the frustration in the set of his mouth, could practically feel the need climbing, scratching at Mickey's insides. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, making sure Mickey's eyes were watching, before he bent his head back down to Mickey's hips, biting down at the skin on the right side, sucking on it for a moment as he slid the boxers down past Mickey's thighs.

Once they were all the way off, Ian pushed Mickey's legs apart and repositioned himself between them. He lifted up Mickey's left leg, ran a hand along his shin and nibbled, licked his way up his thigh, waiting until Mickey pushed his hips down into the mattress, his breathing heavy and ragged, his eyes screwed tight as precome leaked freely from his hard, untouched dick before he bit down on the inside of Mickey's thigh. He smiled as he heard Mickey's breaths become pants, his name escaping his lips in a desperate whisper that didn't mean to slip out.

He run his tongue up the length of Mickey's shaft, licking the precome as it spilled over the head, Ian's heart beating like a drum in his chest.

"Gallagher" Mickey hissed as he lifted his hips up, groaning at the lack of contact as Ian pulled his head away.

Ian felt as Mickey's hands tugged, ripping at his boxers.

He was breathless himself as he managed to get the boxers down past his knees, barely able to shake them off his foot before he was pushing his hands down on Mickey's thighs, slipping them round, under him, to his ass. "Pass me the lube"

"just..." Mickey sighed, agitated "just spit"

"Mick" Ian protested, "The lube is right there"

Mickey growled in annoyance before reaching over and grabbing around in Ian's backpack.  
He threw out random contents, still unable to find it in his impatience.  
Giving up he chucked the backpack at Ian, who pulled it out within seconds and held it up with a cocked eyebrow to Mickey.

Mickey just responded with a roll of his eyes, "hurry up and get on me Gallagher"

Ian flicked open the lube and squirted some onto two fingers as he leant over Mickey's body, smirking slightly before he captured Mickey's lips with his own, Mick responding without hesitation.

Ian loved how unrestrained Mickey was now - he wasn't afraid to kiss Ian, he never questioned what any of it meant and never thought about the implications of it like he did before. He didn't hold back like in the beginning, didn't do it just because Ian challenged him too. He did it with force and passion and feeling and Ian loved it more every time it happened.

Mickey moaned into Ian's mouth as Ian pressed his fingers against him.  
Pressing into him slightly with one finger, Ian pulled back from Mickey's lips and ran his tongue over them, "you taste like skittles"

Mickey groaned low, "Shut up" as his hand snaked up and pulled Ian's lips back to his own forcefully.

"Ay you got a lighter?" Ian asked, shaking his lighter by his ear before chucking it onto the bedside table.  
Mickey yawned and reached around on the floor for his lighter, chucking it up to Ian who caught it with practiced grace.  
Mick run a hand over his face, "fucking midnight already man. Feels like we just got here" Ian mumbled his agreement as he flicked the zippo and lit his cigarette.  
He flipped the lid shut and pointed at the engraved staff on the silver metal.  
"I noticed that the other day - your dog?"  
Tipping his head forward in a nod, Mickey muttered out a "Yeah"  
"What's his name?"  
Ian sees the change in Mickey's face, though he tried to hide it. His mouth twitched up into a sneer before he managed to control it. Ian held in a sigh, tried not to be disappointed that Mickey still wouldn't open up to him. Still felt like he couldn't.  
They fell into silence as Ian smoked his cigarette. It was almost down to the butt when he heard Mick's voice which came out quiet over the sounds of the TV  
"Spud"  
Ian studied him for a moment before he decided to push a little further "How long you have him for?"

"A while. Got him when I was about 8" Mickey's mouth turned up in a smile as he remembered "Iggy got him for me"

Ian handed him what was left of the cigarette and watched as Mickey's shoulders relaxed, his eyes flicking over to Ian as he spoke, "my ma hated him, but he was the coolest dog. You pointed your fingers at him like a gun and yell BANG and he'd roll over, play dead" he laughed to himself at the memory, but Ian could see a flash of pain in his eyes "He was pure white except for this one black spot just above his tail - shaped like a potato. He had the biggest brown eyes too, man. They got me out of shit so many times."  
Mickey smiled as he relived the memories in his head,  
"Fuck, this one time I had some shit with the Costello boys. This is back when they thought they were the shit - I fell on my ass and they thought they had me. But then Spud came running down the street and just fucking jumped on them, stopped them from getting me. He was fucking awesome"

"...what happened to him?"

Mickey sniffed, his mouth in a thin line, "Came back from school one day when I was 14, found him dead in the road. Terry had booted him out of the house, left the fucking gate open." He let a short breath out of his nose, his jaw tight, "Car got him"

Ian watched Mickey quietly as he run a finger over his bottom lip, pushing back the memory. He forced his lips up into a small smile which seemed to get more genuine as he spoke, "Mandy got me the lighter the Christmas just gone" He looked over at Ian and Ian could see the sincerity dancing in his eyes, "It's the best present I ever got, other than Spud"

Mickey looked down at the burnt out cigarette between his fingers and let out a small sigh before he stubbed out in the makeshift ashtray. As he sat back against the pillow, he looked at Ian, "Ay you think that Bert and Ernie were gay? I totally think Bert and Ernie were gay"

Ian could see that Mickey was just trying to get Spud out of his mind, so he just laughed and slapped upside Mickey's head, earning himself an index finger dug straight between his ribs.

The sound of the faucet running in the bathroom, water noisily splashing over the edge of the sink and hitting the floor was enough to wake Ian up the next morning. He blinked at the muted TV whilst the clock in the corner informed him that it was barely after 8 - Far too early to be awake. He looked into the bathroom, not lifting his head from the pillow and saw Mickey slipping into his joggers, his top and jacket already pulled on.

He smiled at the sight, wiped at his eyes removing the crusts of sleep. "You getting breakfast?" he asked, his voice clogged with sleep and a building yawn.

Mickey walked into the bedroom, glancing down at Ian for a split second before he reached down and pulled up his bag and scarf and dropped them onto the bed, "Nah man, I got work"

Ian frowned at him, confused, he'd booked the entire weekend off, "Kash 'n Grab?"

"Other kind of work" Mickey shrugged as he fixed the scarf around his neck, "gotta collect"

With a scoff, Ian pulled himself up, resting his back against the pillow "...it can't wait a few hours?"

"Na, man" replied Mickey, "I gotta make a living"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah" Mickey all but snapped, "Why you acting like you got a problem with that?"

Ian scoffed, "never mind. Just… go"

"I'll catch you later?"

"Whatever" Ian muttered petulantly, with a shrug, as he placed a cigarette between his lips. He attempted to light it before remembered that his lighter wasn't working. With a huff he threw the cigarette and lighter back down on the bedside table with a little too much force,"We don't have to be out till 3 so I'm staying"

"Are you really pissed off right now?"

He wiped a hand over one side of his face and shook his head, "Just... go do your job Mick"

With nothing but a scoff and a raise of his eyebrows, Mickey just picked up his bag and left as Ian slumped back down, pulling the quilt up to his shoulders and facing away from the door.

As he stood outside the hotel, bag on the floor in front of him, Mickey's mind worked over what had happened to make Ian so damn moody.  
Ian had always known about Mickey's work. He had always known that Sundays were his days that he collected money from people. Whatever, at least he didn't have to put up with his pouty face at work all day. He can deal with that tomorrow.  
He tried to shut his mind off to it, to Gallagher's mood with him, his snappy responses, but it wouldn't leave him. It plagued his thoughts as he fiddled with the fringe of the scarf around his neck, it scratched at the back of his eyelids every time he blinked and he felt his mood sour at the thought of Ian ignoring him for the next few days.  
He scratched the back of his head, dug his nails in slightly too hard in annoyance, before he pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and dug around for his lighter.  
Lighting his cigarette, Mickey inhaled deeply and ran his thumb over the engraving of Spud, his mind transported back to the conversation before bed with Ian.  
He didn't even know what had come over him when he was talking to Gallagher.  
It was like his mouth had been moving, spilling his guts, talking about things before his brain had kicked into gear. He had never spoken to anybody about Spud before, not even Mandy, not really. He couldn't understand why he'd even bothered; why he'd even wasted his breath talking about someone, something that was never going to come back. It was out of his control and Mickey wasn't some little bitch that cried over spilled milk.

Except, he guessed, it did kind of feel good to talk about Spud and what he had been like, the adorable little shit. Ian had never even met Spud, didn't know the fucked up things he used to do just to piss Mickey off, but Mickey found that actually he had _wanted_ to tell Ian all of those things. A part of him wanted Ian to know that he missed Spud more than he'd ever missed anything; more than he missed his mom, even more than he missed the man his dad used to be. Spud was his best friend - well, before Gallagher came along. Spud was his only friend before then really.

_Fuck_, Mickey cursed himself as he realized that maybe him wanting to spill his guts to Ian actually meant something. Maybe the whole night meant something.  
He puffed on his cigarette, earning a dirty look from the guy holding the doors and he didn't even glare at the snobby old dude, he just kicked his bag further away from the doors and moved to stand by it.

He glanced up at the hotel, his eyes narrowed. Mickey would've had to have been pretty stupid not to figure out by now why Gallagher had done this - why he'd sorted out a night at the hotel, why he'd waited until Mickey was comfortable before trying to press the issue of Terry again. Ian was just trying to help him out and, fuck; Mickey realized that him leaving the way that he did had been a pretty dick move.  
He hadn't even let Gallagher know that it was a good night or that his neck had no cricks in it and he actually felt his age for once when he had crawled out of the bed, just after seven.  
He suddenly had the urge to _tell_ Gallagher all of those things - he wanted Ian to know that he _did_ appreciate what he had done for him, that the hotel was actually pretty freaking sweet.

Mickey's brain worked overtime as he stared up at the clouded over sky, little drops of rain bouncing off of his forehead, wetting the tip of his almost burned down cigarette.  
Did Ian really give a shit that he left? Had he actually wanted Mickey to stay? Mickey hadn't even meant to be a dick - he was just used to his usual routine and thought nothing of getting up and dressed. He didn't realize that Gallagher had wanted it to be something more than that.  
If he was completely honest with himself, the idea didn't scare him as much as he thought it would've - As much as it would have this time last year.

Gallagher had somehow wormed his way under Mickey's skin, seemed to have an effect on every working part of Mickey's body just at the thought of him and Mickey realized with a muted growl under his breath just how fucked he had become.  
He wasn't used to this - he wasn't used to giving a shit and making other people happy. He wasn't used to _wanting_ to make other people happy.  
He stubbed out the cigarette on the floor, a cold shiver running down his back as a breeze ran past him, goose bumps appearing even under the few layers he had on.  
Looking around him, he spotted a bakery across the road. He paced around for a minute before heading over to it.


	9. Chapter 9

He was under a waterfall; the sky was clouded over as he swum around between the pools of rocks. The water cascaded down the cliff, crashing, swirling, drops landing rhythmically against his head. He looked up, opened his eyes against the grey clouds, he wanted to smile but his face was stuck in a scowl and suddenly he heard the loud sounds of a bus as it drove through a road thick with slush. He looked around confused, unable to see a bus anywhere. The water glided down the cliff louder and louder, steam rising up as the water splashed down. He thought he heard whistling from amidst the steam which was suddenly everywhere and he couldn't see anything. The tune seemed to get louder and louder; it echoed in his ears, bounced off of the rocks around him and suddenly his heart raced, hammered, against his chest.

His eyes shot open and he relaxed when he realized that it was just a dream. He could still hear the whistling though, the sounds of water coming from the bathroom and steam was spilling out from the open bathroom door.

He checked the TV; saw that it had been barely over an hour since Mickey had left.

What the hell?

On the verge of panicking, Ian left out a breath when he saw Mickey's bag on the floor by the door, droplets of rain dripping from the strap aswell a brown paper bag sat next to it.

He run a hand over his face and glanced back at the bathroom door before he lay down and relaxed back into sleep.

"Ay wake the fuck up!" Ian groaned as Mickey's voice stirred him out of his slumber. He had dreamt of nothing, probably only really half asleep, but he still fought the urge to open his eyes.

Suddenly something crashed against his forehead with a thunk and he opened his eyes, glaring at the ceiling before he looked over to the bathroom door. He saw Mickey walk through it, bollock naked and body still damp from the shower.

Looking back at the pillow next to him, he saw his shampoo bottle, the thing that had obviously bounced off of his head. He glared at it as though it offended him and he tried to hold onto his bad mood, his annoyance at Mickey, but it wavered as the scent of the hotel's body wash mingled with the scent of his orange and mango shampoo filled his nostrils and he tried not to let out a moan as the smell got stronger the closer Mickey got to the bed.

Mickey didn't even say anything to him as he came to a stop at the foot of the bed. Ian just looked at him, still half glaring and he could see the urge to scowl back at him written on Mickey's face. Instead he just reached over the bed, grabbed hold of Ian's thighs and pulled him further down the mattress, his toes barely touching the floor as Mickey stood between his open legs with a dirty smirk on his face. Ian felt himself harden as Mickey ripped the covers away into a heap on the other side of the bed, before he hooked his fingers under the redhead's boxers and tugged them off, eyes blowing wide with lust at the sight of Ian, naked and half-hard in front of him.

Ian's mind went into overdrive, tried hard to think of something to say but his mind became nothing but incoherent dribbles as Mickey knelt in front of him, eyes trained on his before he closed his mouth around the head of Ian's dick.

He watched as Mickey's eyes closed, the heat from his mouth, the rhythm of his tongue, making Ian's heart beat like a drum in his chest. His fingers tangled in the sheets as Mickey's free hand palmed his balls, almost too hard, just on the border between pleasure and pain - like almost everything was with Mickey - and he thought he may have even let out a gasp as Mickey dug his fingers into his thigh, in the same place he had before. The skin of Ian's thigh tore under Mickey's fingers, in time with his tongue running over the head of Ian's dick, dipping teasingly into the slit and Ian tried to stifle a moan as he thrust his hips upwards.

A breathless moan choked out of him as Mickey worked his mouth harder and tighter, his teeth grazing playfully, almost painfully, along Ian's shaft before he ran his tongue along it as Ian's legs twitched underneath him, his chest rising and falling like he was running out of oxygen.

Ian reached his hand out, tangled his fingers in Mickey's hair and gripped, pulled desperately on it, warning Mickey that he was close.

Mickey held Ian's hips in place with both of his hands as his head bobbed once, twice more, Ian's eyes never leaving the top of his head, watching his every movement.

Then suddenly, just as Ian felt like he was about to explode, Mickey pulled away.

"Don't..." Ian struggled to catch his breath, his balls aching with the need to release, "Why are you stopping?"

Mickey responded by biting playfully at Ian's thigh and Ian had to bite down on his lip to stop from coming right then. He could see Mickey as he reached over to his bag and as he brought out the lube, Ian knew he wasn't going to last long.

Mickey crawled up onto the bed and took Ian's fingers into his mouth, massaging his tongue over them, between them, as he flicked open the lid of the lube and Ian had to close his eyes and swallow hard as he tried to hold back.

"Mick, I-"

His voice was weak as he tried to protest; desperate as Mickey slicked up Ian's fingers and moved his hand to his ass as he straddled him and Ian curled his toes at the smile that spread across Mickey's lips.

He pressed his fingers into Mickey without warning and he tried to open his mouth to protest, let Mickey know that he wouldn't - couldn't - hold out much longer, but with the feeling of Mickey, tight around his fingers, the expression of pleasure on Mickey's face as he fell forward, his hand pressed hotly against Ian's chest, not one sound escaped his mouth.

Wasting no more time, Mickey positioned himself against Ian and Ian groaned as the head of his dick pushed against Mickey's hole. Mickey rocked his hips, rubbing himself against the precome that leaked from Ian's dick and Ian groaned before he pushed Mickey down on him, too rough he thought as Mickey grimaced at the sudden pain. But then Mickey let out a moan that he had been trying to bite back and Ian had to swallow down the inhuman noises he wanted to make in response.

Mickey started to ride him, both hands pressed against his chest as he took control. Ian moved one hand and cupped it around Mickey's wrist and was too caught up in the sight of Mickey on top of him, the feeling building inside of him, to notice as Mickey's fingers twitched against his.

He tried to fight it, tried to hold back, but as Mickey's mouth dropped open, as his fingers dug into Ian's chest, he couldn't control it. His hips shot up and he came inside Mickey, his head tipped back as he released and Ian knew that nothing would ever feel that good again.

He was breathless when his heart began to calm down. He opened his eyes, suddenly aware of his grip on Mickey's wrist, suddenly aware of Mickey's unimpressed face looking down at him.

"Seriously?"

"What?" Ian shrugged, cheeks burned a bright shade of pink "I tried warning you"

Mickey sniffed and Ian watched as he ran his tongue over his lip, a half-pissed off look on his face as he blew out a breath and pulled off of him, collapsing beside him on the bed.

Ian turned his head to look at him, a relaxed feeling washing over him, the smell of the shampoo once against filling his senses and Mickey just smirked back at him before he gestured to his still hard dick "Well it ain't gonna suck itself"

With a scoff, Ian raised his eyebrows "Really?!"

"What?" Mickey shrugged, "stop being such a bitch and get your mouth on me."

Ian laughed disbelievingly and shook his head towards the ceiling "you're such a romantic"

Mickey just pulled at Ian's side until he rolled onto his front and positioned himself between Mickey's legs, his fingers curled tightly around Mickey's dick. He looked up at Mickey's face; saw a look in his eyes that he hadn't seen before. His pupils were blown and he was rock hard under Ian's hand, leaking precome all over his fingers. Ian smirked at him, wondered how the guy could be such an asshole yet make Ian want him more than ever, before he leant his head down and stretched his mouth over Mickey's dick, swirling his tongue over the head.

He looked up at Mickey, watched as Mickey's teeth turned the red of his bottom lip white, his eyebrows furrowed as Ian's hand tightened around the base of his cock.

Mick fidgeted against the mattress and Ian could see his fingers moving, looking to grip something as he relaxed his jaw and took all of Mickey into his mouth.

Mickey hissed out through his clenched teeth and he pushed his hips up and Ian coughed out a choke around him, punching at Mickey's side as he laughed. Asshole.

Ian stilled his movements, held eye contact with Mickey until Mickey was squirming beneath him and his fingers dug tight into Ian's hair.

Then he pulled back, took his mouth from Mickey and watched the confusion fall on to his features,

"Why the fuck you stopping?!"

"You going to take back what you said?"

With a roll of his eyes as he fought to control his breathing, Mickey tipped his head in a nod,

"If I do you going to stop being such a little bitch?"

Ian cocked his head at him, blank-faced "I'm not a little bitch."

He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle with annoyance at the sound of Mickey's laughter "Says the guy with my dick in his mouth, bout to swallow my load."

Moving to sit up on to his knees between Mickey's legs, Ian pulled off of him completely and pushed himself up further, pressing down too hard on Mickey's thighs "says the guy with my load running down the back of his thighs."

With a frown and a sneer tugging at his lips, Mickey looked away from Ian "I ain't nobody's little bitch."

A smirk now set on his features, Ian scoffed once again "Yeah? Say that next time you're squealing out all high pitched, bent over the table."

Ian could see Mickey's dick twitch as he spoke and he wondered if it was his attitude that was turning Mickey on more or if it was just because he hadn't got off in a few hours.

He didn't have a chance to think any more about it as Mickey reached out and put his hand on the back of his head, pushing it back down

"We'll see who's the bitch after I stop putting out, see who's squealing then."

Ian didn't reply, he just gripped mickeys hips tight, causing Mickey to hiss as he takes him back into his mouth.

He went rougher after that, hands leaving a thin trail of pale marks along Mickey's hips and Mickey bucked his hips each time a fresh one was left behind. He moaned louder as Ian bared his teeth, scraped them too roughly over the head. Mickey's hand was still in his hair - what little there was of it - and he pulled tighter, forced Ian's head down further, pulled him up when he wanted something different. Ian liked it when they were like this - too hard, too rough and he thought of a theory that he had learned about in psychology and how people were supposed to avoid pain and move towards pleasure. But this kind of pain Ian didn't ever want to give up - the pain that so finely blended together with pleasure; that had his toes curling, his head swimming, his every nerve on edge, and his every emotion bleeding between each other - happiness mixing with anger in a way that shouldn't be possible. The feeling was like a high so great he couldn't possibly imagine the comedown, couldn't possibly imagine feeling any other way.

He took his mouth away from Mickey, jerked him off a few times sloppily as he caught his breath and he could see the impatience in Mickey's entire body, his legs rigid either side of him, his hips pushing harder into his hand. He licked his lips, glancing up at Mickey's face, whose control on his expression was wavering as he became needier, more eager for Ian's mouth.

Giving him what he wanted, Ian wasted no time in taking him in right down to the base, his nose buried in the bed of his pubes for a moment before he pulled back to run his tongue along Mickey's head. He was forced to take in more of him as Mickey's hips bucked under him, Ian's hair gripped once again, knotted between Mickey's fingers. He teased his tongue again and again around the head before he felt Mickey pushing on the back of his head, using the grip on Ian's head to pull him back up slightly. Ian wrapped his hand around the base of Mickey's dick and pumped him slowly as his mouth continued to work on the head, tongue licking up the precome that spilled out of him.

Mickey came suddenly, silent except for a grunt that slipped out through his gritted teeth. Ian choked as the load hit the back of his throat and he dug his nails into Mickey's skin before he pulled his head away.

As Ian swallowed, Mickey leaned up with his hand and a lazy smile and wiped away a dribble of come that escaped Ian's mouth and made its way down his chin.

Ian run his tongue over his lip, his eyes on Mickey's, a pissed off look on his face,

"Warning would be nice"

"You gotta complain about everything?" Mickey asked with a snort as Ian flopped down beside him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand,

"Shut up" he grumbled with a roll of his eyes,

"I'd like it if you would" Mickey's voice was light, teasing but it just continued to piss Ian off as he turned his head to glare at him,

"Fuck you"

Mickey just grinned and slapped at Ian's arm "Pass me a cigarette"

Ian frowned, rubbing at his nose "Get your own damn cigarettes"

With a roll of his eyes, Mickey reached past him and climbed over the bed, picking up his smokes. He lit one and took a long pull, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched Ian try to hold onto his bad mood.

Ian accepted the cigarette as Mickey handed it over and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop from responding to Mickey's smirk before the older boy leaned in and kissed him, quick and hard, the faint taste of tobacco on his lips.

"Why you always gotta be such an asshole?" Ian asked, gruff and low as he looked at the cloud of smoke that moved around them, reminding him of his dream for a moment.

He blinked away the thought and glanced over at Mickey through his lashes and felt a smile tug at his lips, felt as his bad mood disappeared completely and he could see a small amount of relief flash on Mickey's face as he pulled his head back and just shrugged,

"If you're looking for a guy who does the flowers and terms of endearment thing, then you got the wrong one"

Ian saw the honesty written on the pages of Mickey's face, could see the nerves dancing under his skin, twitching at his lip as Ian worked his eyes over his face "flowers ain't all that"

Mickey's chest deflated like a balloon, breath leaving him in relief at Ian's comment and he smiled away from him as Ian moved over to him and rested his chin on Mickey's chest,

"Plus" he started, "I like to think every insult is secretly your way of saying nice shit in public"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah -" Ian moved his forearm under his chin and laughed, "like asshole means babe. Douche means…" he screwed his face up in thought, "sweetie"

"Sweetie!" Mickey objected, his eyes all but bugged out of his head,

"Shut up" Ian groaned, his lips pushed out as he rolled his eyes at Mick "it's the only word I could think of"

Mickey laughed, taking a pull of the ignored cigarette "like every punch is a hug or some shit?"

Feeling embarrassed, Ian just shrugged "Something like that"

Watching as Mickey's laugh died down into a smile, his teeth biting onto his bottom lip as he looked at Ian "ha, you're fucked in the head you know that"

Ian just huffed out a laugh and pushed himself up and bit down on Mickey's nipple. He listened to the sound of Mickey's breath as it hitched in his throat and he hid his smile against Mickey's skin until he could control it.

He tilted his head up to Mickey, his cheek resting warmly against his stomach

"Only as fucked as you"

*****************  
His body felt like it was made of liquid as he smoked lazily on a cigarette. He wasn't even stoned and he felt more relaxed than he ever had before. Mickey had never been so glad to go back on a decision than he was right now.  
He didn't even know what the time was or how long they'd been lying there, not even really talking, not really doing anything, just chilling and relaxing in the silence.  
Mickey wasn't used to silence; he found it uncomfortable and he knew far too well that silences were usually only that way because it was forced.  
Silence in his house usually meant that Terry had been on the warpath the night before - everyone far too afraid or too beaten to make a noise.  
A step on a crack wouldn't break his mother's back, but the sound of the step could certainly break his.  
He'd learned years ago that silence was never a good thing - he had to have noise around him, in whatever form it came. Because in silence you're aware of everything, every creak in the stairs, every muffled sound behind your sister's closed door, every thought in your own head.  
But now, right now with Gallagher by his side and the rest of the world shut away from them, Mickey thought that the saying was true - silence really can be golden.

He wondered if Ian was thinking the same thing - whether Ian had ever really _heard_ silence. After being raised with so many siblings and parents like his, he finds it hard to imagine that Ian even knows what quiet feels like.  
On the thought of Ian's family, Mickey passed the cigarette over to him and asked,  
"That true about your brother wanting to hang out with me?"

Ian nodded, puffing on the cigarette between his lips, "Yeah. Mandy talks about you quite a bit" Mickey run his tongue over his bottom lip as Ian smiled at him like he was telling him a secret, "Debbie thinks you'd be a pretty badass brother, she probably wants to meet you too"

Mick just laughed "I'd be better than the brothers she's got now"

Feeling Ian's hand bat against his chest, Mickey snorted as he took the cigarette back from him "Ay fuck you"

"Ha, what? one sociopath" Mickey sucked in a breath as his lungs filled with smoke "one scrawny little army nut and a guy that's got brains but can't punch for shit?"

"Scrawny?" Ian asked, amused, making a show of looking down at his naked body and Mickey felt a pull in his stomach and it felt like the weight of rocks as they sat in a jacket pocket; dragging, weighing him down, pulling him under further, his head barely above the water and he knows he should stop or else he'll drown, but he still can't help looking around for more rocks. Just one more.

Mickey blinked away from him and laughed around a puff of smoke "...well you were. You looked like a fucking 8 year old when we first started fucking"

"That's… so gross"

Turning his head to see Ian grimace, Mickey just backhanded him playfully in the stomach "You know what I meant dickhead"

There was a knock on the door that made Mickey's heart pound against his chest for a moment and he growled as the knocking became more persistent.

Ian just laughed as he pulled on his boxers, "Yeah. I bet it means you used to jerk off to 8 year old me on the little league team right? Don't think I didn't see the looks you used to give me"

"Fuck off, man. Come on, did you see your hair?" he rolled his eyes as Ian slipped on his shirt and felt the burn of a blush against his cheeks when Ian turned back and caught him staring, a wide smirk appearing on his face,

"Ah, so you _do_ remember me then?"

Mickey ground his teeth together, trying to think of a comeback. When he struggled to think of one, he just gestured with his hand for Ian to get the door.

Ian closed the door over so that the person knocking couldn't see Mickey, but Mickey could hear as the guy told Ian that they had ten minutes left and then they had to be packed and gone.

Back to reality.

Mickey glanced out of the window behind him and saw the grey skies from this morning had gone and in its place everything was white - almost blindingly so. He narrowed his eyes and watched the snowflakes as they dropped to the ground below him.

He sniffed, rubbed at his nose with the heel of his hand and leant over the bed, stubbing out the cigarette.  
"Time to go?" he asked pointlessly and Ian just nodded, a small smile on his face as he chucked Mickey his shirt.  
***************


	10. Chapter 10

"Oh yeah?" Ian laughed as he and Mickey made their way through yet another alley. The El was closed due to the snowstorm that had apparently happened that morning while they were hidden away in the hotel room and so they'd had to walk home.  
Wrapped up in his coat, Mandy's scarf around his neck and Mickey cracking jokes beside him, Ian didn't mind too much that the walk had taken them an hour longer than it was meant to "apologetic blowjobs: the very height of romance"

Ian bit into his second eclair of the day, his favourite, the pastry hard and dry, the cream tasting slightly off after sitting in the brown bag all morning. He looked at Mickey as he chewed almost impatiently on the food in his mouth, shaking his head,  
"apolog-?" Mickey scoffed under his breath, licking the last of the cream from his iced bun from around his mouth "ain't got fuck all to apologize for"

Ian clapped his hands, dusting off the crumbs, "Uh, being a dick and walking out this morning?"

Mickey glanced up at him, his tongue pushed into the corner of his mouth "...fuck you, I came back di'nt I?"

With a wondering frown, Ian tightened the bag on his shoulder, feeling less safe now that they were back on their side of town "why did you come back?"

"Wanted to get laid before I went home" He smirked up at Ian and Ian just blinked at him, seeing the grin that spread across his face "Fucking disappointment that was"

Ian shoved at Mickey with laughter in his voice as he replied "ha, fuck you"

Mickey stumbled in the snow, almost hitting a car. Snorting out a laugh as he accidentally knocked off a wing mirror, Mickey run his hand along the length of the car and Ian watched cautiously as the pile of snow built up against Mickey's arm.

He stepped back as Mickey turned his head and looked at him with that same grin tugging wider at his lips. Shaking his head at him, Ian dropped his bag onto the floor and bent down, digging up some of the snow in his palms. But it was too late. As he moved to stand up, Mickey pounced on his back, like a predator does its prey, and shoved the handfuls of snow down the back of his coat.

His back arched against the freezing cold of the snow and the breath almost knocked out of him before the snow dropped out from the bottom of his coat and hit the ground.  
Mickey was too busy laughing at his reaction to notice as Ian recovered. He wrapped his arms around Mickey's head, in the way that Mickey always does to him.  
Mickey squirmed underneath him; twisted and turned and tugged until Ian's grip loosened and Ian wondered idly if that was how Mickey managed to win most of his fights.  
He had an urgency to him - a kill or be killed energy that radiated from him. No matter how many times he went down, Mickey would always get back up, fists still swinging, pounding and pounding until there was nothing left but dust.  
For a moment he thought what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Mickey's fists, to be up against someone with such a strong desire to survive. The thought scared him, but then with the feel of Mickey's arms wrapped around his waist, fidgeting against him, hard and powerful but still more gentle than he's ever seen Mickey be, he realizes that him and Mickey stand together. As friends or as something more, Ian was on Mickey's side, stood right next to him, calming that energy and slowing him down, relaxing him.

And as Mickey's ice cold hands reached up and slapped themselves against Ian's rosy cheeks, sending a cold shiver shooting through his body, Ian laughed. Because in all the ways that he managed to calm Mickey, Mickey had the opposite reaction on him. Mickey brought him out of his head, away from his worries and his thoughts and he was a constant reminder to Ian that they were only teenagers. They were young and it was ok to act like it sometimes.

Ian, mouth dropped open from the feel of Mickey's hands against his cheeks, cupped his own gloved ones over them and pulled his face away, sucking in a breath as the chill of the air whipped against his skin. "Asshole"

With a husky laugh Mickey picked up his bag as the pair fell back into line together and started walking once again.

After a few minutes of silence, Ian felt Mickey bump against his shoulder and as he flicked his eyes over to him, he saw the smirk lighting up against Mickey's features "Ay that hotel wasn't too shabby. It was a pretty decent night"

Ian could barely contain his smile as he watched Mickey re-wrap his scarf tighter around himself, fiddling with the fringe like it was calming him.

He wasn't really looking at Ian when he spoke again, his eyes instead glancing just past him with his eyebrows raised "Definitely gotta keep you around for a while if you're gonna be taking me to fancy hotels and shit"

Ian bit the inside of his cheek as Mickey glanced almost nervously, almost affectionately, up at him before he smirked, which was more like a smile and Ian couldn't help but grin back before he shoved at his shoulder and pushed Mickey forward, a blush painting his cheeks for reasons he wasn't quite sure of.

They walked in a comfortable silence for a little while and as they turned down Mickey's block, Ian felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of Terry on the other side of the door, angry and pissed off and looking for someone to break, just like he was broken.  
He slowed down his pace, slower and slower as they got nearer to the house, not really wanting their time together to end.

"Wait here"

Ian watched on confused as Mickey jogged up the front steps of his house and dropped his bag down behind some bins before walking back over and joining him.

He tipped his head towards the direction they were walking and Ian silently started walking with him, swallowing his confusion.

They walked to the end of the block before Mickey lit up a cigarette and answered Ian's unasked question "well that fuckhead little brother of yours wanted me to teach him shit, right?"

"Right" Ian smiled, ignoring Mickey's eye roll.

Ian suddenly got a feeling that maybe their... situation wasn't as one sided as he originally thought.

*************  
Ian felt Fiona's presence as the back door slammed behind her. She dumped the grocery bags on the table with a sigh and scraped her hand through the messy bun on top of her head.

"You're back?" she asked with a knowing smile as she carried the milk bottles to the fridge.

He bit into his sandwich and nodded his head as he walked round the table to the kitchen window. He peered out of it and he could hear Fiona putting away the shopping as he smiled at the sight in the back yard.

"What the fuck is Mickey Milkovich doing playing with Carl?"

With a mouth full of food, Ian twisted his head back to face Fiona "Teaching him how to use a knife"

"Great!" Fiona answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she put the value tins into the cupboard, "the neighbourhood terrorist influencing my sociopathic little brother - Just what I need"  
Ian just smiled at her before he looked back out of the window to the sight of Carl charging forward with Mickey's knife, repeatedly stabbing the air as Mickey watched on in amusement.

"Ian" Fiona said pointedly and he looked back at her, only to find her two steps away from him, hands on her hips. He could see the cogs working in her brain, the pieces fitting together. She narrowed her eyebrows at him, silently asking and he just shrugged, unable to wipe the smile from his face, unable to even answer because he didn't have a clue what was going on.  
He didn't know what they were or where they were going, he just knew that he liked it and that it was good; the kind of good that could go bad with too much pressure. The kind of bad that could crumble them into dust, that would leave them too broken and too ruined for anybody else. But for now it was good, the best it had ever been and Ian would take it - Would take any pain that came with this kind of pleasure; would take any pain as long as he got to be with Mickey at the end of it.

He could feel Fiona frowning at him before she joined him by the window, craning her head to get a good look. The lines in her forehead creased further as she saw Carl holding his wrist, his face twisted in a painful grimace and Mickey with his head tipped back with laughter.

She looked at Ian with her eyebrow cocked up expectantly, waiting for answers and he just laughed, a ridiculous grin aching his cheeks. He wrapped an arm around her neck and kissed her forehead, letting a breath out of his nose "shut up"

Ian, his arm loose around Fiona's shoulders, turned his head and looked back out the window and saw Carl stab at the air with Mickey's knife. Mickey laughed at something Carl said as his face twisted in a grim looking expression as he jabbed the air threateningly. Ian went to close the net curtain back over when he caught Mickey's eye.  
Mickey cocked an eyebrow at him and flipped him off and Ian grinned back at him, ignoring the huff that came from Fiona.  
She didn't seem to notice the small smile playing on Mickey's lips or the light in his eyes, but that didn't matter. Because Ian did.


End file.
